The Color of Rain
by coffeewithsnark
Summary: As the Order officially enters a period of war, tensions mount between wulfen and djamphir. Desperate to find Graves, Dru must decide how far she is willing to go to save him and where, exactly, Christophe fits in. D/G and D/C.  AU as of Defiance.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer_: Nothing in this story belongs to me, and no copyright infringement is intended. It all belongs to the awesome Lili St. Crow.

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**Prologue**

It was a wild, rainy night—or morning, technically, since it was sometime around three o'clock— when Marcus let it slip.

I could tell from the expression on his face that he hadn't meant to say it, his mouth snapping shut with a _click_ audible from across the table.

"What did you say?" I straightened in the seat where I sat, knees folded against my chest. Next to me, Shanks shifted. Marcus cleared his throat, eyes glittering oddly in the dark room. The fire in the fireplace had long ago burned down, casting peculiar shadows around the high-ceilinged chamber.

"I said, milady, that we are—technically—in a period of peace."

"Technically?" I repeated, fighting the urge to grab for my mother's locket where it rested at my throat. "Anna has been working with Sergej! They've been—they've been _murdering_ people. How does that fit your definition of peace?" _And they've got Graves_. My stomach gave a lurch at the reminder—as if I could forget.

"It is not our definition, milady," Hiro broke in smoothly, coldly beautiful features unreadable in the dim light. "You see, Lady Anna was reluctant to officially declare war on Sergej, and the _nosferat_ who follow him."

"War?" I echoed, a knot beginning to form in my gut. "What does that mean?"

To my right, Shanks leaned forward, mouth set in a grim line. "Dru."

I ignored him, leaning forward further and pressing my palms flat against the table. An ominous rumble of thunder sounded from somewhere outside. Foreshadowing to an answer I didn't want to hear, no doubt. "Hiro. What does that mean?"

He paused, appearing to be considering his words carefully. "The treaty, milady. It provides for the possibility of war, should the Council declare it."

_The treaty_. I racked my brains. Distantly, I remembered Graves mentioning an agreement signed by the _djamphir_ and the _wulfen_. His voice floated back to me, making my chest hurt. Something about the male _wulfen_ attending the Schola to be trained, while the girls stayed at home or attended satellite schools during the day.

Something clicked in my brain then. I sat back and regarded the rest of the Council, a feeling of horror spreading over me. "Is that why there are no girl _wulfen_ here? You're making some kind of—some kind of _army_?"

"We," Hiro corrected, though not unkindly. "And yes. Students and graduates of the Schola must sign an agreement upon entering the school. Everyone of age is to be drafted upon a declaration of war."

I stared at the table, considering this. "How would that be different than now?"

Christophe answered then, voice low. "Lines would be drawn, sides chosen."

I looked up at him then, chewing my lower lip thoughtfully. "What do you think of this?"

"War is ugly, _skowroneczko moja_. Most of us are old enough to remember the last time the Council declared war." He smiled then, and it wasn't a nice smile. More like a baring of teeth. "But Sergej—and Anna—have crossed the line. It is your decision."

I felt sick. If Graves were here, he would know what to do. I could practically see his smirk as he lit up a cigarette, somehow making everything seem manageable again. But _they_ had him now.

And it was time to get him back.

I tapped my fingers against the armrest. "And the _wulfen_?"

"The _wulfen_ must abide by the terms of the treaty," Marcus replied, dark brows drawing together.

"Not what I'm asking." I turned to Shanks then, because I had nobody else to ask. He met my gaze, expression bleak. "Shanks?"

"A lot of people are—pretty angry about Graves." He coughed. Graves had been a leader, a _dom_, as Dibs had put it. It made sense. "If we don't get him back—"

"We're getting him back," I interrupted fiercely. I turned to face Christophe. "What do we need to do?"

**TBC**

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**A/N**: You can expect to see updates on a weekly basis, though I decided to upload Chapter One and the Prologue together since the Prologue is fairly short. You don't need an account to leave a review, so please don't forget to let me know what you think so far! Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter One

_Disclaimer_: None of it's mine. I just like to play in the sandbox on occasion.

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**Chapter One**

"Watch your feet!" Christophe barked, right before I landed front-first on the ground, catching myself with my palms.

_Fuck_. I contemplated the floor, mere inches away from my face, feeling the sweat drip down my face and burn my eyes. My teeth tingled as I hoisted myself back up, swinging around and catching Christophe in the stomach with my elbow. He _oofed_ and staggered back.

"You're getting good," he panted. "But I'm—still—better!" He punctuated his words with punches, gritting his perfect teeth with concentration.

I blocked his punches with a speed and accuracy that unnerved me, feeling the warm-oil sensation of the aspect flooding through me. Was I becoming like him?

A terrible thought occurred to me. Would I still be the same person after I bloomed? Would Graves still recognize me?

I felt a cold knot of fear form in my gut, enough distraction for Christophe to knock me flat on my back.

_Ow_. _Shit_. I glared at the domed ceiling overhead. Weak early-morning sunlight was just beginning to trickle through the arched windows, casting a pale, white wash across the wooden floor.

"That's enough for today, _kochana. _Even _svetocha_ need their rest." Christophe flashed me a heartbreaking grin, teeth startlingly white against his skin. I didn't respond, letting my skull drop back against the floorboards with a _thunk_.

"Dru?" Christophe's voice was concerned.

I closed my eyes. "I'm fine, Christophe. Go ahead. Bobby's right outside."

A pause. "We'll get him back, _moj ptaszku. _I swear it."

I didn't respond, and there was the sound of Christophe's bare feet padding away.

I wondered what Graves would say, if he could see me. He'd always refused to spar with me, insisting my guard wouldn't like it. Of course, he'd never been particularly bothered by their opinion before, but I'd let it go. Now, I suspected it had more to do with his mother than me.

_She would try to act like nothing was happening. But I could see the bruises. I'm not stupid. _

There had been so much left unsaid between us when he left, things we had never talked about. Would we ever get the chance?

The knot in my stomach tightened, and I rolled over on my side, curling up. _I don't want a war_, a voice in my head screamed. _I just want him back_.

But did I have a choice? Even if Anna hadn't attacked me, if Graves hadn't stormed out and been taken, Sergej would have found me sooner or later. Just like my mother.

I curled up tighter.

"This doesn't strike me as healthy, Dru-girl."

I cracked one eye open, glaring. Shanks stood over me, expression shadowed by the pale morning light. "Graves doesn't want you to do this, you know."

"Don't tell me what he wants." I sat up suddenly, the blood rushing to my head, and I squeezed my eyes shut again. "He doesn't want to be held captive, either."

"Curling up in a ball on the floor isn't going to help anybody, Dru-girl. Least of all Graves."

"Fuck you." I opened my eyes, glaring. "Don't you know? I'm useless until I bloom. Worse than useless, even."

"Is that what you think?" Shanks asked calmly, sitting down cross-legged next to me on the floor. "Because I was under the impression you weren't all that thrilled about this blooming thing."

"It doesn't matter."

"Yeah, it kind of does." He leaned back on his hands, frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Look, Dru. Did you declare this war over Graves? Because—and I'm just saying—he's not going to like that."

I shrugged, picking at the hem of my sweatpants. "Not completely."

"Jesus Christ."

"He killed my father!" I shot back, looking up to meet Shanks's incredulous gaze. "He made him a zombie, did you know that? Sergej sent him to my house, and I shot him. I shot my dad." I swallowed thickly, fighting back the edge of tears threatening to creep in. _I didn't have anywhere else to go_, a voice finished in the back of my head. _And then Graves found me_.

Shanks was silent for a moment before he spoke. "I didn't know that."

But I didn't respond. Graves had saved me when I needed him most. I owed him, and Shanks was right—I wasn't going to win this war curled up on the ground.

I wiped my hands on my sweatpants and stood up. "Want to spar with me?"

Shanks raised his eyebrows. "Pretty sure Graves would beat the shit out of me if he found out."

"C'mon. Afraid you'll lose?"

Shanks shook his head, grinning, and shrugged out of his hoodie.

# # #

"We may have a lead on Anna." Bruce spoke carefully, not meeting my gaze. "We have reason to think she's residing in the countryside, a few hours from here."

I stilled. "How do you know? Is she alone? Is the source reliable?"

Christophe answered, voice even and low. "The Order has well-placed sources across the world, _moj ptaszku_. Many of these sources became active upon the declaration of war two days ago."

"And you trust the source?"

"Not enough to send you, no." Christophe's voice was grim, and for the first time, he looked away.

"_What_?" I snapped, clenching my fists. "I'm not just—just going to _sit back_—"

"The mission will be dangerous, milady," Marcus said quietly, dark eyes studying me. "The Council now has access to an entire army, you may choose to send in any number of soldiers to capture her."

"Don't speak about them like that!" I sat up straighter, and Marcus's mouth snapped shut. "Like—like they're _disposable_ or something."

The room was quiet for a moment, silent for anything except the crackling of the fire. I took a deep, steadying breath. "Why didn't she go further away, I wonder?"

"That occurred to us as well, milady." Hiro regarded me thoughtfully. "It is possible she was in the process of running when you signed the declaration. Since we are officially at war, more eyes will be on the lookout for her, and for Sergej."

_Good_, I thought darkly. When I found her, I would tear Anna from limb to limb, if that's what it took to find Graves.

"I'm going," I announced in a steely, hard voice. As Christophe opened his mouth to object, I raised my hand. "Christophe and my guard can come with me. I want to speak with Anna myself."

I stood up. Hiro and Christophe exchanged looks as they straightened.

"When are you planning on leaving, milady?" Bruce asked, frowning.

"As soon as possible. Tonight, if we can." I turned on my heel, squaring my shoulders as I shoved the heavy door open. Noticing me, Benjamin adjusted from his position against the wall in the corridor.

"Milady?"

"Pack your bags, Benjamin," I called over my shoulder. I didn't stop. I had someone I needed to see.

Benjamin jogged after me. When he fell into step beside me, not a single strand of hair was out of place, and he wasn't even panting. God, I hated _djamphir_ sometimes.

"Where are we going, milady?"

"Infirmary," I said shortly. Benjamin nodded.

"Dru!" I could hear Christophe calling after me, but I didn't turn around. "Dru, stop!"

I sighed, spinning around so fast my hair whipped my face. "_What_, Christophe?"

He stopped several feet away, raising his hands in an _I'm-innocent_ gesture. "Dru, _malutka_, I know you want your _loup-garou_ back. But it's only a matter of days before you begin to bloom."

"Graves could be dead in a matter of days." _Or worse_. My voice rose. "Look at Ash! Do you really want that to happen to Graves?"

"Of course not. But being reckless won't save Graves, it will only get you killed." His voice gentled as he stepped forward, ignoring Benjamin next to me. "I'll go find Anna myself, _moj maly ptaszku. _Only give yourself a few more days."

I felt a surge of guilt at the pain evident in his eyes. Why was it that, no matter what I did, I always managed to hurt those closest to me? "No." I swallowed, turning away. "A few days could mean life or death for Graves. I'm going, and I'm going tonight. Come on, Benjamin."

I could feel Christophe's gaze burning into my back as I walked away.

Our trip to the infirmary was quiet, save the echoing of our feet in the corridor. Outside, the sun was beginning to rise. Although I understood the reasoning behind it, I was quickly coming to miss the sun. Spending your days sleeping can do that to you—make you miss everything you took for granted before.

As we reached the infirmary door, Benjamin settled into place in the hallway. "Just call if you need anything, milady."

I tugged the door open, revealing a figure so white his skin blended with the bedsheets. Recognition flickered in hollow brown eyes as he licked his cracked lips. Tangled brown hair fell to his shoulders, broken only by a single streak of silver. "Dru," he rasped.

"Hello, Ash."

**TBC**

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**A/N**:As always, thanks for reading, and look for Chapter Two to be uploaded this time next week. Don't forget to leave a review and tell me what you think!


	3. Chapter Two

**A/N**: Thanks to everyone for the lovely reviews so far. Individual replies can be found at the end of the chapter. Also, thanks go out to the wonderful Lady Artemis for Christophe's vocab. Without it, Christophe would be a heck of a lot harder to write!

_Disclaimer_: None of it belongs to me.

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**Chapter Two**

"Dru!" Dibs emerged from a supply closet, roll of gauze in hand, blushing slightly as he noticed me. "What're you doing here?"

"Hey, Dibs." I settled into the chair next to Ash's bed, the plastic creaking in protest. "We're leaving as soon as possible. Got a lead on Anna."

Dibs's eyebrows shot up. "Where is she?"

"Only a few hours away, supposedly." Noticing Ash's frown, I elaborated. "The other _svetocha_."

"And hopefully, she knows where Graves is." Dibs set the gauze down on the counter, brows knitting together as he thought. "Why's she so close, I wonder? I would've expected her to go out of the country or something."

"I asked the same thing. Hiro thinks the war declaration might've forced her into hiding sooner than she planned."

"Graves," Ash repeated, voice like sandpaper. "The one I…"

"Yeah." There was an awkward silence, and I looked at Dibs. "Can you come with us? I mean, I know you've got Ash to look after—"

"I'm going," Ash interjected flatly.

I turned in my chair to look at him, lips parting in surprise. "What?"

"I said I'm going." He cleared his throat, reaching for a glass of water next to his bed. After he took a gulp, he continued. "You forget, I know what Sergej can do to _wulfen_, even a _loup-garou."_

"Graves is strong, Dru," Dibs inserted hastily. "If anyone can resist being Broken, he can."

"No one can resist being Broken," Ash muttered, brown eyes taking on a glassy look. I eyed him nervously, a sinking sensation in my gut.

"Ash, I don't think you're—"

He shook his head, dark eyes clearing as they focused on me. "If Graves is the person you say he is, then I think I owe it to him. Don't you?"

I didn't have an answer for that. "We're going to have one hell of an entourage," I grumbled, sitting back in my chair. Recognizing a retreat when he saw it, Ash settled against his pillow.

Dibs leaned against the counter. "Who else is going?"

"Well… you, me, Shanks, Ash, Christophe—not to mention the rest of the guard. God only knows how we'll stay inconspicuous."

"Are you sure Anna's really there?"

"No," I admitted, tugging on my locket as I studied the tiling below my feet. It was almost hypnotic, the way the tiny swirls curved into each other, like the pieces of a puzzle falling into place. "But since we haven't got any other leads at the moment, we're going to run with it."

"Dru." Dibs's voice was soft, and I looked up to see him watching me, understanding clear in his blue eyes. "Graves is strong. Stronger than any of us know, even."

I shifted, crossing my arms. "I know. I just…"

"What?" he asked, when I didn't continue.

"It's my fault," I mumbled, focusing hard on a spot in the tiling so I wouldn't have to look at those eyes and see compassion there. "If it weren't for me, Graves wouldn't be in this mess."

"I think you're exaggerating, Dru," Dibs said gently. I swallowed, fighting back the urge to cry. God, this wasn't going to help Graves at_ all_, and I couldn't seem to stop the words as they came tumbling out of my mouth.

"It is. If it weren't for me, he wouldn't even be a _loup-garou_." My voice sounded strangled, even to myself. "He took me in, and in return he got bitten. He got _tortured_." My voice cracked, and I suddenly realized tears were trickling down my face. "Fuck."

"Dru," Dibs spoke carefully. "Graves knew what he was getting into by bringing you here, and he cares about you. Trust me."

The last time I'd seen him, Graves had been furious. Furious at _me_. "Whatever." I sniffled, rubbing hard at my face with the sleeve of my sweatshirt.

I retreated to my room not long after that, claiming to need sleep. It was technically true, but I knew I wouldn't be able to. Instead, I resorted to pacing the room, feeling my muscles ache from the hours I'd been spending sparring with Christophe. Since we finally had a definite plan to find Graves, I was itching to get started.

The room they'd moved me to—my mother's room, once—was slightly smaller than the one destroyed by the _nosferatu _weeks ago, though definitely no less elegant. Dark paneling covered the walls, with a tasteful white canopy draped elegantly over the four-poster bed. Of course, I could've been staying in a prison cell with a cot for all the attention I bothered to pay to the décor at this point.

I eventually flung myself across the bed, leaving on my shoes. I hadn't bothered to pull the drapes shut, knowing full well that I wouldn't be drifting off to dreamland anytime soon, and soft, warm sunlight filtered across my face. I closed my eyes, feeling the gentle hum of the wards drift through me. I'd stopped needing the rowan wand to cast the wards ages ago.

Once again, Christophe's pained expression flashed through my head, and I grunted. Denial only works for so long, and lately, I'd been practicing a lot of it.

It was hardly Christophe's fault I was so screwed up, I thought to myself, opening my eyes and rolling over onto my stomach. Here I was, expecting him to help me find Graves, knowing full well that Christophe was—well, _interested_ in me. And he was actually willing to do it, which was even weirder, when you thought about it.

I had the unwelcome thought that, once we _did_ manage to get Goth Boy back, things were going to get even more complicated. Because how could I possibly explain it to him? "I sort of thought that you up and left me, so I kissed Christophe. Thought you should know."

But had I really done anything wrong? I glowered at my comforter. It wasn't like Graves had been chomping at the bit to take things to the next level. _Let's just be careful_. What the hell did that even mean?

I spent most of the morning dozing restlessly, catching snatches of dreams as I drifted in and out of sleep. Sometime in the early afternoon I woke up, mouth hanging open and drool pooling on the quilt.

I staggered out of bed and into the bathroom. My head throbbed, and I felt like shit. Judging by the reflection staring back at me, I looked like it too. Dark circles shadowed my eyes, as if I hadn't slept for days.

I leaned over, splashing lukewarm water onto my face. After several minutes of searching through the medicine cabinet and swearing to myself, I discovered a comb in one of the drawers and began yanking out the snarls in my hair. Eventually, I gave up and threw the comb down with a sigh, where it landed on the counter with a _crack_. _Don't know your own strength, Dru? _I could practically hear Graves sniggering inside my head.

I squeezed my eyes shut. With every day, I was one step closer to blooming, and one step closer to becoming a person I didn't recognize. On the other hand, once I finally got it over with, I could track down Sergej and finish things once and for all. A small shiver ran through me at that thought, and I opened my eyes.

I padded over to the closet, figuring I should probably look for some clean clothes, since I wasn't actually sure how long I'd been wearing the same tank top and sweatpants.

My eyes landed on the clear plastic boxes at the bottom of the closet, and my heart gave a lurch. I'd insisted on bringing all of Graves's things with me when I changed rooms.

I sank to my knees, prying the lid off the top box. On top rested a black t-shirt, with a huge lightsaber-wielding dinosaur peering back at me. I gave a barking sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. _You're falling apart, Dru._

I snapped the lid back on with more force than was strictly necessary, and grabbed a fresh pair of jeans and a t-shirt from the dresser. I checked myself out in the mirror again, and grimaced. I looked—well, I looked like a mess. Deciding it was a lost cause, I dragged on a sweater and opened the door.

Leon raised an eyebrow at me from his position sitting cross-legged on the floor. His long-fingered hands rested atop a shotgun spread across his lap. "Milady."

"Leon. Hey. Did Benjamin did talk to you?"

"About our departure? Yes." He detangled himself gracefully and stood. "But I was under the impression we were leaving tonight."

"We are."

"So we're going…?"

"To the armory. To pack."

Leon regarded me with something like mirth in his dark eyes. "I think most _svetocha_ pack make-up, perhaps some moisturizer. A toothbrush, even."

I shook my head. "I don't think a toothbrush is going to help me beat the shit out of Anna, but I'll take it under consideration."

As we neared the armory, Benjamin appeared out of nowhere. I jumped, heart hammering like a jackhammer. "Goddammit!"

"Apologies, milady," Benjamin murmured, not looking apologetic in the slightest. Leon just looked amused. "What are you looking for?"

"Supplies, Benjamin." I stuffed my hands into my pockets. "Let's get started, shall we?"

**TBC**

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ThisLittleDeath: Thanks! I much prefer the Dru from the first book, she's very kick ass and a lot of fun to write. Hopefully she'll be back in _Defiance_.

ivashkov'sgirl: Thank you! I'm currently about 3/4 of the way through the story and don't foresee any potential delays in updating. *knocks on wood*

DamonFan13: I'd rather not get into specifics and ruin the ending, but Graves is definitely a fun character to write. I have to constantly fight the urge to throw him in back into the story immediately. If I get the chance, I'll try to be a little more specific in a PM.

lionsloyal: I try to match the tone of the books as best I can, but it can be a little tricky sometimes. Thanks!

**A/N**: I expect to have Chapter Three up at the end of the week, so check back around Friday or Saturday. As always, thanks for reading and don't forget to leave a review!


	4. Chapter Three

**A/N**: Thanks to everyone who left a review last time. You can find individual replies at the end of the chapter.

_Disclaimer_: I don't own Strange Angels or anything else you see here.

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**Chapter Three**

I hefted the heavy crossbow in my hands experimentally, _hmming_ noncommittally. "What do you think, Leon?"

"Milady," Benjamin began, "I can assure you, your entire guard will be—"

"I think we should take it," I decided, lowering it to my side. Even with my increasing _svetocha_ strength, it was heavy. But I was looking for weapons that could do some serious damage, and the crossbow fit that category.

Leon cocked his head. "What about the axe, the handguns, and the AK-47, milady?"

"We'll take those, too."

"Well, at least we won't be under-armed," Benjamin muttered, heaving a sigh. "Milady, I think you ought to try and rest. We don't know what we'll be encountering once we leave the Schola."

"I'm fine," I insisted, settling the crossbow on the table next to the other weapons. Something occurred to me then, probably later than it should have. "How are we leaving the Schola, anyway?"

Benjamin inclined his head, indicating he had already dealt with it. "We have several vehicles at our disposal, milady. I will pack these up for you."

"Thanks." I backed away from the table, taking it all in. It _was_ a lot of weapons, particularly since my guard was already going to be armed to the teeth. But I wasn't taking any chances: once I found Anna, she sure as hell wasn't going to get away.

# # #

I stuffed the green t-shirt into the duffel bag, huffing with irritation. "You're doing it again."

Christophe sighed from his position on the edge of the bed, elbows propped against his knees. "And what is that?"

"You're staring. I know you think this is a bad idea, okay?"

"This is a terrible idea,_ malutka. _We don't even know who we can trust, and the best place for you to be until you bloom is within the walls of the Schola. This could be a trap, orchestrated by Anna and Sergej."

"So I should just send out some unsuspecting soldiers, is that it?" I straightened, flinging a pair of jeans over my shoulder to glare at him.

"Of course not." Christophe looked mildly affronted. "I have already said I would go for you, _moj ptaszku. _And I assure you, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"So am I," I shot back, with a bravado I definitely didn't feel. Still, Christophe didn't need to know that, and I resumed my packing. "Graves trusted Shanks and Dibs, and so do I. We've got Ash now, too."

Christophe ran one hand through his hair, and I determinedly did _not_ notice the way it gleamed in the lamplight. "Three _wulfen_ are not enough to protect you from Sergej if this is a trap."

"I have you," I reminded him, careful not to look up as my face began to heat up. _Don't think too hard about that statement_, I instructed myself.

"Of course you do." He leaned forward then, covering my hands with one of his own. I didn't look at him, feeling my cheeks burn. "You always will, _skowroneczko moja._"

With sickening clarity, Graves's face flashed through my brain. I yanked my hand away. "Toothbrush," I mumbled, turning around and stumbling into the bathroom.

_Shit, shit, shit_. My heart was pounding so hard Christophe could probably hear it in the other room.

How had I managed to get myself into this mess? Here I was, knee-deep in an all-out war between the Order and Sergej, and I was blushing like a thirteen-year-old schoolgirl with a crush. Not to mention the minor detail of my not-relationship with Graves.

I splashed some cold water on my face and squinted into the mirror. "Maybe the nunnery will have an opening," I offered my reflection, who didn't look particularly impressed with the suggestion. I could hardly blame her.

After drying off my face, I grabbed my toothbrush and marched back into the bedroom. Christophe stood at the window, his back to me, surveying the setting sun. He didn't say anything as I continued to pack, for which I was extremely grateful.

After I had finished, I followed Christophe's lead down to the underground garage. Once we arrived, I realized Christophe and I had two very different definitions of the word "garage".

Since most of my later years were spent on the move with Dad, I've lived in a lot of different houses, generally middle-class ones with creaky stairs and an attached garage with oil stains seeping into the concrete. I had expected something along these lines, albeit on a slightly larger scale and a few more oil stains.

This room, on the other hand, was much closer to a low-ceilinged ballroom, with sleek white walls stretching as far as the eye could see. Glossy cars of every make and color imaginable were lined up at an angle, without a single scratch or dent in sight. Windows gleamed in the low lighting.

I followed closely behind Christophe as he weaved through the vehicles, nearly running into him when he stopped abruptly. "Here we are," he announced, and I peered around him to see two dark SUVs, both with tinted windows.

"Subtle," I remarked dryly. A blond _djamphir_ appeared out of nowhere, and I just barely managed to clamp down on the urge to swear. In my mind's eye, I could see Graves smirking at my jumpiness. My stomach clenched, and I pushed the mental image away.

"Milady," he greeted me, reaching for the duffel bag I carried. I racked my brain for his name—Greg? George?—and nodded. Christophe hauled open the trunk, tossing in the second of my two bags.

"Er. Hello."

Benjamin emerged from the other side of the SUV we stood next to, followed closely by two other _djamphir_, both of whom looked vaguely familiar. "Milady." He inclined his head at me, practically a bow. "You'll be riding in this vehicle, the other is ready to go."

"Wait." I looked around, frowning. "Where are Dibs and Shanks? And what about Ash?"

"The _wulfen_ are in the red SUV, milady. We thought it best if—"

"No." I shook my head emphatically, curls flying wildly. "Dibs, Shanks, and Ash ride with me. And Christophe."

"Of course, milady."

If the _djamphir_ minded spending the next several minutes playing musical cars, they didn't let on. Once we were all settled in—Shanks to my left, Ash to my right—Christophe flicked his gaze to the rearview mirror, eyes meeting mine. "Ready?"

"Ready," I replied tersely. Christophe nodded once, and started the car.

Unlike the last time I had been in a car with Christophe, this car ride was deadly silent. No music blaring, no arguing over directions, no Graves inserting sarcastic side comments. I closed my eyes, leaning my head back against the headrest, and tried not to feel sick.

# # #

_The water glittered in the sunlight like glass, smooth surface disturbed only by the faint ripples emanating from the narrow raft. Orange flames flashed against the blue sky, becoming blurry as I stared out, the raft rapidly growing tinier as it drifted away. Strong, warm arms cradled me, protecting me, and I breathed in. _

"Dru?" Someone was shaking me awake, and my head snapped up. I blinked blearily, rubbing at my temples.

"What? What is it?" I squinted at the clock on the dashboard. Judging by the time, we'd only been on the road for about forty minutes.

"Detour," Christophe said grimly, cell phone pressed to his ear. The red SUV in front of us—manned by Benjamin—began to slow down. I leaned forward, massaging the back of my neck with one hand.

"Detour? What for?"

"Road work, apparently." The shadows of the car accentuated the angles of his face as he scowled, dark brows drawing together. "We should consider turning around, _moj ptaszku. _Some of the smaller roads—"

"We keep going," I interrupted, settling back in the seat, feeling the reassuring warmth of Ash and Shanks press down on me from both sides. Though I couldn't see Dibs in the seat behind me, I knew he was there. "I don't want to give Anna a chance to get away."

It was Leon who responded, though he didn't turn around to face me. "As you wish, milady."

"Take the detour," Christophe snapped into the cell phone, then tossed it onto the seat, jaw clenched. The SUV in front of us flashed its signal, turning onto the exit.

The sun was almost completely below the horizon now, turning the sky a deep purple-black. We were the only two cars on the road, distorted shadows broken only by our headlights. I must've looked a little more unsettled than I realized, because Shanks reached over and patted my arm awkwardly before quickly withdrawing it. I forced a smile in return.

I estimated that we'd been driving for about five minutes when the SUV in front of us unexpectedly slammed on its breaks. Christophe cursed, car screeching to a stop as we all pitched forward.

He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "What—"

At that moment, the red SUV in front of us exploded.

**TBC**

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**A/N**: I know, I know, it's a cliffhanger. My apologies. I expect Chapter Four to be up the middle of next week. Don't forget to leave a review if you have the chance, and thanks for reading!

ivashkov'sgirl: Thank you! Don't worry, Dru will eventually get the chance to meet up with Anna. ;)

ThisLittleDeath: Thanks! Writing Dru's thoughts on Graves just kills me sometimes, since she's clearly pretty devastated by his kidnapping at the end of _Jealousy_.

Carly: I'm trying to go for more of a Book 1 Dru feel, so I'm glad to know that she seems fairly in character! Thanks.


	5. Chapter Four

**A/N**: Thanks to everyone who left a review last time. Replies can be found at the end of the chapter.

_Disclaimer_: Nothing you see here belongs to me.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

My scream was lost in the chaos of sound and activity that followed.

Almost instantaneously, Shanks and Ash threw themselves on top of me, crushing my lungs and cutting off my scream abruptly. My face smashed into my kneecaps as I fought to push my head up, but they were unrelenting.

I tried to shout, but my voice was muffled and inaudible in the chaos. "Christophe—!"

A screech like a car door being ripped off its hinges sounded, then—"_I'm fine_!" I let out a gust of air I didn't know I'd been holding. "Leon, come with me! Ash, Shanks, Dibs—stay with Dru! _Don't move_, do you hear me?"

I swore violently, struggling once again to sit up. Unfortunately for me, I'd been caught off guard and _wulfen_ are damned strong when they want to be. _Keep your head in the game, honey_, my dad's voice ordered in my ear.

My thoughts raced a mile a minute, trying to make sense of the commotion. The thick taste of waxed oranges filled my mouth, and I fought the urge to gag. Had the detour been faked? If that was the case, how had they known we'd be here in the first place?

_They'd know if this whole thing was a trap! _a voice shouted in my head, and this time it sounded an awful lot like Graves. I squeezed my eyes tighter. If this had been any other situation, I would be getting seriously concerned about the growing number of voices in my head.

God, if Christophe had been right and this was a trap, I was never going to hear the end of it. I fought to quell a rising wave of panic within me; if this was a trap, that meant Anna wasn't even in the area. Hell, she could be halfway across the world.

Graves had never felt so far away as he did right then.

There was the sound of more shouting, and suddenly, the twin pressures of Ash and Shanks were gone. I shoved myself into a sitting position, red-faced and gasping, only to be unceremoniously yanked out of the car by Ash. Luckily, I had enough foresight to grab onto my bag, feeling it clunk against my side reassuringly as we sprinted.

"Christophe said not to leave the car," I panted, stumbling after Ash as he dragged me away from the wreckage. I craned my neck around, and what I saw made my stomach plummet: the other car lay in ruins, blackened bits scattered across the road, some still smoldering. Thick dark smoke clouded my vision, making my eyes water, and I slowed. Surely not even _djamphir_ could survive that.

Dibs skidded to a stop next to us as Shanks shoved me from behind, hard. "We're too fucking close!" Shanks yelled, voice hoarse from the smoke. "Goddammit, Dru, move!"

I shook myself as though coming out of a trance, and broke into a run, following closely behind Ash as we hurtled into the wooded area along the highway. The trees blurred as we picked up speed, and I knew I'd reached the scary, stuttering momentum characteristic of _djamphir_. Hot tears streamed down my face, and this time, I knew it wasn't from the smoke.

What had I done?

# # #

I leaned over, clutching my stomach and gasping. Ash gazed past me. "I think we lost 'em. For now."

"But what—about—Christophe?" I managed, straightening enough to see his grim expression.

"Reynard can take care of himself," Shanks interjected, flapping his hands in a _shooing_ motion. "Right now, we need to stay on the move. Put as much distance as we can between them and us."

"And Anna?" I demanded, wiping my face with my sleeve. Thankfully, none of them mentioned the dried tears on my cheeks.

Dibs shook his head, angelic blond hair gleaming in the moonlight. "Dru, it was most likely a trap. Trying to go on—it'd be suicide."

"And, in case you've forgotten, you've got a war to lead, Dru-girl." Shanks made as if to squeeze my arm, then seemed to think better of it. "Unfortunately, we were pretty far off the beaten path. God only knows how far away the next town is."

I nodded, digesting this. "What've we got for supplies?"

Ash and Shanks exchanged looks, and I knew immediately that most of our weaponry had been left behind in the SUV. _Well, shit. _

Luckily, if there was one thing I knew how to do, it was run. I squatted down on the ground, unzipping my canvas bag and rifling through it. In it, I'd stashed a small wad of cash—wrapped tightly in a rubber band— a half-empty Coke bottle, a .22 caliber handgun, and an extra t-shirt. I pulled the handgun out of its holster, its weight heavy and reassuring in my hand.

"Okay," I announced, voice astonishingly steady. "Shanks is right, we need to keep moving. Once we hit the next town, I can give the Council a call and let them know what happened. Questions?"

Three pairs of eyes stared back at me. Nobody moved.

"Right. Ash, you lead."

It was hard to gauge how long we ran, but it felt ages. The shadows loomed ominously around us. Every twig, every blade of grass was as sharp as if the sun hung above us, and I knew I had never been able to see so well in the dark before. By the time we staggered to a stop, my legs ached, my eyes burned, and a dull throb was beginning to form in my lower back.

"Got to be close now," Ash mused aloud, bending over to wipe his face with his t-shirt, exposing an expanse of pale white skin.

"Hard to say." Shanks shrugged, glancing at me. "We were pretty far off the scheduled route at the time."

I rummaged through my bag, producing the bottle of Coke and taking a swig. I grimaced; it had long since gone flat, but the warm liquid was a relief to my dry mouth. I offered the bottle to Ash, who shook his head.

I studied him worriedly for a moment out of the corner of my eye. His face looked pinched and drawn in the moonlight. He'd tied his tangled hair back into a ponytail before we left, and a chunk of hair had fallen loose, brushing his hollow cheek.

_We shouldn't have brought him_, I thought, not for the first time. Ash's transformation back to human had been a long and painful one, and even now, weeks later, his eyes still held a haunted, glassy look. I tried to imagine seeing a similar expression on Graves's face, and it was suddenly difficult to breathe.

_Goddammit, Anna._

"You okay, Dru?" Dibs watched me closely, an anxious look on his face. I came back to myself with a jolt.

"Yeah, sure." I bent over, stuffing the bottle back into my bag, and swung it over my shoulder. "Um, you guys ready to keep moving?"

After what felt like an hour—but, in reality, was probably only half that—we emerged from the woods, bathed in cold white neon light. A deserted gas station, looking as though it had seen better days, stood not far away. I sagged against the nearest tree in relief, feeling the ragged tree bark dig into my skin. I couldn't bring myself to care.

Shanks examined all of us critically, then pointed to Dibs. "Dibsie, head inside. Find out where we are and where the nearest town is."

Looking around at our small group, I realized we all looked pretty ragged. Ash's hair had long since fallen out of its ponytail, and his bare legs were streaked with blood. Had he been injured? I wondered. Shanks looked sweaty and exhausted, and was limping. I preferred not to imagine how bad I looked, though I was seemingly unharmed.

As if reading my mind, Dibs flashed me a gentle, reassuring smile. "Be back in a sec."

My tired eyes stung as we watched him jog across the deserted parking lot. "Gonna have to call the Council soon," Shanks said conversationally, as though we were discussing the weather.

I made a face, imagining _that_ conversation. "Yeah. I know." Just then, my leg began to vibrate, making me jump about a foot in the air. Feeling foolish, I dug into my jeans and produced a tiny cell phone, courtesy of the Order. The screen read UNKNOWN CALLER.

Frowning, I flipped it open. "Er, hello?"

"Dru?"

At the sound of Christophe's voice, I sank to the freezing ground, mud be damned. "Oh my God, Christophe. Are you all right? What about Leon and the others?"

"I'm fine, _malutka_. I'm sorry, but I can't talk long. I must have lost my cell phone—we found a pay phone a few miles away. Are the _wulfen_ with you?"

"Yeah." I nodded, forgetting that he couldn't see me. "We're all fine. Are you hurt?"

"Good, that's good." Christophe's voice sounded far away, as though we were speaking from opposite ends of a very long tunnel. "Dru, listen to me. I think this was a trap. You must be careful, do you understand? Call the Order as soon you're somewhere safe."

"What about you?" Jesus Christ, I couldn't lose Christophe now, too.

"Don't worry, _moj ptaszku. _For now, just focus on keeping yourself safe. We'll find your _loup-garou_. Just don't do anything— reckless."

We disconnected. How had this gotten to be such a mess? Graves was being held hostage, Christophe was God-only-knew where, and here we were, stranded with Sergej's suckers on our tail. I sighed, wrapping my arms around my middle. I hadn't been feeling too hot the last few days, though whether it was due to stress or the impending blooming was anybody's guess.

Dibs reappeared next to us. I hadn't even noticed him leaving the gas station. God, I really _was_ tired.

"Good news. Guy says there's a motel not far that way." Dibs pointed, and I followed his finger. Not far off the in the distance, I could see a blue-and-white neon sign glowing.

"Fan-freaking-tastic." I tossed the cell phone back into my bag and zipped it, picking up the .22 again.

Really, I couldn't blame the motel manager's stunned expression as we came staggering in. Fortunately, I had enough sense to holster the gun while we were still outside, since that was one complication we definitely didn't need.

It was agreed that we'd sleep in shifts until morning, so Shanks and Dibs took the first shift. I felt pretty guilty about that, since they both looked about as shitty as I felt, but for the moment, there was nothing to be done about it.

After dropping my bag on the bed, I began setting the wards around the room. Ash watched me through lidded eyes from his position on the other bed, hands folded across his stomach, but didn't say anything.

When I was done, I collapsed onto the bed, still fully dressed. The comforter was cheap and scratchy, but I didn't care. I closed my eyes, praying for a few hours of peaceful, dreamless sleep.

**TBC**

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**

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! I'm looking to have Chapter Five up on Monday. Don't forget to leave a review if you have the chance.

ivashkov'sgirl: Haha, thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter, cliffhanger or no. ;)

ThisLittleDeath: Thanks! There will definitely be more and more action as the story progresses.

beachchic: That's definitely an accurate description of Dru! Thanks.

redfeathers023: Thank you! The chapters actually do start to be a bit longer after this chapter.

razzle1606: Heh, I'm always up for accepting bribes. ;) Thanks!


	6. Chapter Five

**A/N**: Well, this is a day later than I'd planned, but here's the next chapter. Individual replies to reviews can be found at the end. Please note that the first line of Dru's dream sequence is taken directly from _Jealousy_.

_Disclaimer_: It all belongs to Lili St. Crow

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**Chapter Five**

_Graves yanked the door open so hard it hit the wall and more tiles shattered. The mirror above the sink cracked in gigantic zigzags, a spider web of expended force. He was gone._

_Except this time, I ran after him. _

"_Graves!" I screamed after him, dark coat billowing behind him. He stormed on, either unable or unwilling to hear me. "Stop! STOP!"_

_I knew what would happen next, because it always happened this way, with only slight variations. Out of nowhere, Anna appeared in front of me, blocking the way. _

_Except this wasn't the Anna I had left behind in the Schola. This Anna was pristine, perfect. She stood in front of me—casual, arrogant, smiling as her fangs slid out._

"_Don't you know, Dru?" Her voice was like a purr, low and velvety, with a slight rasping quality from her fangs. "You're too late."_

_I strained to see over her shoulder, just in time to see a second figure emerge from nowhere. I screamed myself hoarse, but to no avail: Graves collapsed to the ground, blood pooling around him. _

_Sergej stood over him, baring his fangs, and our eyes met. I fought to run to Graves, but my feet were rooted to the ground. Anna's long fingers reached behind me, grabbing my hair and yanking my head back, exposing my throat. _

_There was the sound of boots scraping against the ground, and I felt Sergej's fangs scrape across my skin. _

"_When all this is over," he breathed, "you'll wish I had killed you when I had the chance."_

"Dru! DRU!"

I kicked out, thrashing wildly. Sergej's hands gripped my shoulders, pinning me down, his breath hot on my face.

"Dru, WAKE UP!"

I opened my eyes, panting. Ash stared back at me, dark eyes only a few inches away from mine. Realizing I was awake, he quickly released me and stepped back.

"Dru?" Dibs moved closer to my bed, blue eyes wide. "Are you okay? You were having a nightmare."

I rubbed at my face in a futile attempt to hide my burning cheeks, heart thundering in my chest. "I'm fine. Sorry, guys. It was just—you know, a dream."

"Yeah." Shanks ran one hand over his haggard face. "C'mon, Dibsie. Back outside."

Shooting me one last worried look, Dibs followed him back outside. Ash regarded me thoughtfully.

"Do you get those a lot?"

"What, bad dreams?" I stood shakily, hurrying over to the bathroom to splash water on my face. I left the door open, and when I straightened, Ash was blocking the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

"Yeah."

I wiped my face with the worn hand towel, shrugging. "I guess. I mean, I'm worried about Graves."

"And Sergej." He didn't move.

"Well, yeah." I set the towel on the counter, feeling awkward. "Look, I know you're tired—"

"Dru, I know a thing or two about bad dreams," Ash interrupted me, holding up one hand. I couldn't help but notice that it was shaking slightly. "And I understand. But your friend, Graves—" he stopped abruptly, seeming to struggle with something.

"What about him?" I prompted, almost dreading the answer.

"I still have nightmares. About Sergej, and about what I did. Mostly, though, they're about feeling trapped. Helpless."

"Yeah." I stared down at the counter, remembering the agony of watching Graves fall to the ground. The overwhelming sense of defeat. "I think I know what you mean."

"If you hadn't come along—well." He gave me a lopsided smile, one of the first I'd seen since his transformation. It twisted his face, almost as if he was out of practice. Which he probably was. "What I'm trying to say—admittedly very badly—is that I thought I was lost for good. And you brought me back."

_Come and find me. _Graves's words echoed eerily back to me, and I sat down on the edge of the tub, hard. "That night at the house, when you jumped through the window—you were looking for me. And before that, at the other Schola, you saved me from the vampires. Why?"

He settled on the closed toilet stool, our knees brushing awkwardly, and I shifted to make room for his long legs. "Well, after you shot me, my head sort of—cleared a little. Not enough for me to completely free myself, but enough to know that I wanted to. You seemed like my best option."

"But why?" My voice sounded desperate, even to me. "What made you think I could help you?"

Ash shrugged, running one hand through his hair—which, I was beginning to notice, was a nervous habit of his. "I noticed it at the mall. You smelled—different."

"Smelled like a _svetocha_, you mean."

"No." Okay, now he was _definitely_ embarrassed, since he wasn't meeting my gaze. "You smelled like hope."

"_Hope_?" That was not the answer I'd been expecting. I stared at him, unsure whether to laugh or punch him. "Are you messing with me?"

"No! I know it doesn't make any sense, but it's true. I was right, wasn't I?"

"Christ." I cradled my head in my hands, unsure how to take this. Cinnamon buns had been pushing it, but now this? "We're both crazy."

"Quite possibly." He stood, scratching his stomach and craning his neck to look at the radio clock on the nightstand. "Are you alright?"

"Not really. But thanks, Ash."

He gave me another one of those barely-there, lopsided smiles. With enough practice, it would almost start to look natural. "Not a problem."

I waited until I heard the sounds of him shuffling back to bed before I turned the light off and left the bathroom. Feeling my way back to the other bed, I pulled open my shoulder bag, rummaging around until my fingers closed around the cotton t-shirt. Tugging it out, I bunched it between my hands and curled up on top of the bed. Inhaling deeply, I could just catch the familiar scent: the tang of _loup-garou_, and the smell of a teenage boy who needed his daily shower. My eyelids grew heavy, and I slept.

# # #

The next time I opened my eyes, the morning sun was rising, turning the sky a soft pinkish-blue, and Christophe had found us. I didn't know how, but it didn't seem incredibly important, considering our situation. When I asked him about the others, he shook his head.

"I'm sorry, _kochana. _As far as we can tell, no one in the other car survived the explosion."

I digested this. I hadn't known most of them well, something I knew bothered Christophe more than he'd let on. When it came right down to it, the only people I trusted had been in that car with me.

_Wait a minute_. Something occurred to me then, and I looked over at Christophe, who was sitting next to me on the edge of the bed. "Christophe. When I came down to the garage, they were going to put Ash and the others in the red SUV."

"I remember_. _That occurred to me as well." He leaned forward, studying the carpeting below his boots. "If it was a trap, it's possible someone on your guard was in on it." He looked up to study me then, eyes grim. "Someone on the Council, even."

I took a deep, shuddering breath. I'd had my own suspicions, but hearing it voiced like that was—well, disheartening, to say the least. "Shit."

"Indeed." He lapsed into silence then, thinking. I picked at the frayed comforter, chewing on my lower lip.

"Shanks says the other _wulfen_—back at the Schola, I mean—are upset. About Graves being taken."

"Let's focus on one problem at a time, _moj ptaszku._" He exhaled softly, stretching his long arms above his head. His sweater hiked up, revealing a thin expanse of smooth, golden skin, and I looked away quickly.

Once I'd gotten my brain to catch up with my libido, I felt a surge of annoyance. "You can't just keep brushing them off, you know. That's what's got them so pissed off at the _djamphir_ in the first place."

Christophe shook his head, speaking patiently, as though to a child. "The _wulfen_ have signed a treaty. If they break it, the Order will come down on them. Hard."

"The Order can't fight a war on two fronts, Christophe!"

"And what do you recommend we do?" he asked, exasperation creeping into his voice. If I looked closely, I could see the stress was beginning to take its toll, even on him. "We need to focus on Sergej. Once that has been dealt with, _then_ we can restructure the Schola."

"I'm not just talking about the Schola." I released the comforter, jabbing it for emphasis. "We need _wulfen_ on the Council."

Dark brows shot up as he eyed me skeptically. "And who did you have in mind?"

"Ash, if he'll take it."

"The other Council members will never—"

"They have to!" My voice rose as I gestured wildly. "I see it every day, Christophe. Look how you treated Graves!" I caught my use of the past tense at the last minute, wincing.

Christophe didn't appear to notice, tapping his long fingers against his thigh as he thought.

"Who else did you have in mind? Your _loup-garou_?"

"Yes. It's not really his thing, but—"

He snorted then, an odd look flickering across his otherwise handsome face. "Trust me_, _he will do it if you ask him."

Since I didn't know how to take that, I just shrugged. "Well, my point is that things can't keep going the way they have been."

"No." Christophe sighed, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from my face before standing up. "You're right, _skowroneczko moja. _I suppose it was inevitable. The Order has a car waiting outside, when you are ready."

He left me sitting on the bed, staring at his departing back and wondering what I had missed.

**TBC**

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**A/N**: Thanks for reading, and don't forget to leave a review! I expect to have the next chapter up at the end of the week.

Carly: Thanks! I've always been kind of entertained by the numerous voices Dru carries around in her head. ;)

ThisLittleDeath: I know! Poor Graves, he's really not in a good situation. Thanks!

ivashkov'sgirl: Dru and Christophe have a pretty interesting dynamic, don't they? Thank you!

adrian n rose: Haha, thanks! I can't do much about the length of the chapters since 95% of the story is already written, but I can make up for it by keeping the updates frequent, which I plan to. :)


	7. Chapter Six

**A/N**: Many apologies for this being late. I recently started a new job, and the hours tend to be somewhat unpredictable. Thanks to all of you who have been following along so far, and individual replies can be found at the end of the chapter. Also, one note about this chapter: for the sake of plot, I'm assuming that Dru brought her father's notebook with her to the Schola. I can't remember if this is mentioned in the books or not, so my apologies if it's not canon.

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**Chapter Six**

I stared blankly at the textbook in front of me, words swimming across the white expanse of paper. Acknowledging defeat, I slammed it shut with a heavy _smack_, shoving it off my bed.

It was stupid, trying to study at a time like this. Not when Graves was still out there, and our only lead on finding him had turned out to be useless. I buried my head in my arms, and a sharp rap sounded at my door.

"Come in," I called out, voice muffled.

"This looks productive," Christophe remarked as he entered, voice dry, and I lifted my head. He stood in the doorway, one paper cup of coffee in his hand.

"Thanks," I said, accepting the cup. It was strong and black, just the way I'd requested it. I had given up banana lattes somewhere around the time I'd stopped sleeping and starting carrying Graves's t-shirt around in my bag for emergencies.

I sat up on the bed, cross-legged, and sipped from my coffee, swearing when it burned my tongue. Christophe picked up the textbook, setting it gently on the bed in front of me.

"Dru**,** I know you're upset—"

"Of course I'm upset!"

Christophe continued on, seemingly unperturbed. "—but ignoring your education isn't going to help. The Order—and Graves—will need you in prime fighting condition once we do find Sergej."

I peeled off the plastic lid and blew on my coffee, knowing he was right but unwilling to say it out loud. Since accepting the position of head of the Council, I'd been spending a few hours a day in one-on-one tutoring sessions with some of the teachers—at least, in theory. Mostly these just consisted of the teacher rattling off facts and reading assignments, with me spacing out and imagining the various ways I could cause Anna pain once I tracked her down.

Ordinarily, I would've found the sessions pretty interesting. After all, I was finally getting some useful information about the Real World, and what it meant to be a _svetocha_. Unfortunately, I had a lot on my plate at the moment, and school was definitely getting pushed to the back burner.

I took a test sip. It was still hot, but bearably so. "Christophe, what if she left the country? Anna, I mean. She could be anywhere."

He settled on the foot of the bed, and started to reach for my hand. Seeming to think better of it, he pulled back. I pretended not to notice this, and examined my comforter as if it was the most fascinating thing I'd seen in a long time.

"There's a possibility that what Hiro said earlier was true, _moj ptaszku. _There are certain areas not under direct control of the Order. The declaration of war closed down many of the borders, most likely forcing Anna to go underground—metaphorically speaking, of course."

"But how is that a good thing?" I demanded, feeling a surge of frustration. "Won't that make her harder to find?"

This time, Christophe _did_ take my hand in his, squeezing it once. "I'll see what I can do about hunting up some leads on Anna, _malutka_. Meanwhile, focus on your education and your training."

"Yeah."

He flashed me a reassuring smile before standing up and leaving the room in one fluid movement, boots barely making a sound across the plush carpeting.

Staring at the closed door, I couldn't help but be reminded of my dad, barking out offhanded orders as easily as he breathed. Being around Christophe was—well, complicated, to say the least. Whenever I was near him, I became all too aware of the tangled up emotions in my chest.

There was a ribbon of desire there, definitely. I mean, any girl with a pair of eyes could see that he was attractive, and even I wasn't in _that_ much denial. But where it got more complicated was the knot of fear I could feel somewhere in my gut, and the way my wrist throbbed whenever he was close.

What made it worse was the sneaking suspicion that it wasn't just Christophe I was afraid of. After all, I could hardly hold it against him for biting me, since I'd done the same thing to him. Hell, I'd nearly killed him.

No, looking at Christophe's coldly handsome face—and the rest of the _djamphir_, for that matter—only served to remind me what I was on the verge of becoming: one of them. Had Graves felt this, when he realized what was happening? A niggling sense that something was lurking inside of you, something that didn't belong but was out of your control?

I set my coffee on the end table and leaned back against the headboard, knowing I wouldn't be getting any studying done. I've never been a particularly dutiful student, and the only reason I'd been getting anything done in the way of homework had been Graves's constant nagging. As much as I missed my dad, being constantly on the move had hardly been conducive to a consistent education.

_My dad_. My gaze landed on his old military jacket, hanging off the back of my desk chair, and a thought occurred to me. Maybe, having gotten so caught up in everything with the Order and Sergej, I'd forgotten to go back to the basics that had brought me here in the first place.

I scrambled off the bed and patted the jacket, finally finding what I was looking for—a ragged address book, duct tape stuck to its cover. I flipped it open, fingers trembling as I sifted through, scanning for a contact nearby. Just as I remembered, most of the numbers were from down South, with a few interspersed around the East coast.

Just as I reached the last page, I noticed something had been hastily scrawled inside the back cover: a name, and a phone number. No cross or slashed circle, which could mean just about anything. Except that Christophe's number had been the same way, I reasoned, and that hadn't turned out so badly, right? Of course, it wasn't like Dad to forget marking a contact, and it seemed strange that he would leave not one, but _two_ contacts unmarked, with no additional information attached at all.

Still, it was worth a shot. Hardly daring to breathe, I turned on the computer, impatiently tapping my fingers against the dark wood as I waited for it to boot up. After I finally managed to get through the security, I tapped the area code into Google, and waited. My eyes widened, and I jumped out of my seat.

_Score_! I crowed in my head as I hopped up and down, feeling a new surge of energy course through me, the tedium from studying long since forgotten. I'd been right; the area code _was_ local.

_Be smart about this, honey_. I could hear Dad's voice in my head, as commanding as ever. _You need a strategy._

I took a deep breath. Right. I needed to have an idea what I was walking into, and since Dad hadn't seen fit to include any other information in the address book...

I settled back into the chair, this time typing in the phone number, fingers flying across the keyboard. I hit the enter key, and watched as the results came popping up. What I saw made my eyebrows shoot up. _Way_ up.

_Think about this for a second, babe_, Graves's gravelly voice coached in the back of my mind, and I grimaced at the computer screen. Clearly, Goth Boy's voice had decided to make a comeback. _You need backup, someone you can trust. You can't walk into this alone._

Unfortunately, that was a little easier said than done, since any of the _djamphir_ could still be loyal to Anna. Ash was out of the picture—our scrape with the suckers had taken a lot out of him. I couldn't ask Christophe, since he would undoubtedly try to stop me. There was no one else to ask.

Or was there?

I bounded out of the chair and grabbed the address book. A dark-skinned _djamphir_ I didn't recognize stood slouched against the wall outside my room, snapping to attention when he saw me.

"Milady?"

"Taking a walk," I said by way of explanation as he hurried to catch up with me.

"My name is Derrick." He lengthened his strides in order to keep up, holstering his gun as he did so.

"Nice to meet you, Derrick. Call me Dru."

"Er." Derrick eyed me doubtfully, but I didn't care. Right now, I had more important matters to attend to, namely finding backup and getting the hell out of there. "Where are we going, milady?"

Jesus, I was really getting sick of this _milady_ business. "Downstairs."

Luckily Derrick took the hint, and we lapsed into silence. As we came up to the door I was looking for, I banged on it impatiently. After several moments, the door opened, revealing Augie, wearing sparring sweats and a slightly bemused expression. I threw my arms around him, hugging tightly. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Derrick shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. Augie really didn't smell very good—like stale cigarettes and sweat—but I squeezed him tightly anyway.

Augie patted my back before releasing me, expression changing from puzzled to serious. "Christophe told me about the rest of your guard, _księżniczko_. How're you holding up?" He spoke with a slow but steady drawl, half-Bronx, half-Brooklyn.

"I've been better." I produced the address book, holding it open and showing him the contact information. "Augie, what do you know about this guy? It says his name is Nikolas."

Augie's expression immediately closed off, his hand reaching out to grab my arm as he tugged me inside. Derrick made as if to follow, but Augie shot him a pointed look and he stepped back.

"I'll, ah, wait outside for you, milady."

Pulling the door firmly closed behind us, Augie turned to me, holding out his hand for the address book. "Let me see."

I handed it to him, crossing my arms impatiently. "He's in Dad's address book, but there isn't any information about him. Who is he?"

Augie studied the name for a moment, then snapped the book shut and handed it back to me. "Dru, I know what you're thinking, but it's a bad idea. Nikolas doesn't do anything for free, and he's definitely not somebody you want to get mixed up with."

"But d'you think he could know something about Anna? Or Graves?"

He studied me intently for a moment, dark eyes inscrutable. "Dru, if Graves cares about you at all, he wouldn't want you approaching Nikolas."

I bristled. "I'm getting really sick of people telling me what Graves would want. My guess is that he wouldn't want to be held hostage and tortured, either."

Augie sat down in a nearby armchair, rubbing his face, and I felt a pang of guilt, suddenly remembering that August, too, had barely escaped Sergej alive. I sat down on the edge of the double bed across from him, resting my hands on my knees.

"Augie, please." I looked at him beseechingly, feeling my nails dig into my jeans. "We need to find him. A lot of the other _wulfen_ are—really unhappy right now, and without him, they might revolt. We don't even know what Sergej's doing to him, or how long he can hold out. I don't think I can fight this war without him."

He sighed, lowering his hands, and I recognized defeat when I saw it. "What do you need me to do?"

**TBC**

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**ThisLittleDeath: Thanks! I'm looking forward to seeing where Dru goes in the next book as well.

Carly: Thank you! It's something that occurred to me while reading Jealousy, and I hope the wulfen get to play a bigger role in the Council during the next book.

adrian n rose: Thanks! Believe it or not, we're slowly but surely making it through the plot. Graves will definitely be showing up, but Dru's got some ground to cover before she can find him.

razzle1606: Thank you! He and Dru have such an interesting dynamic, since he basically owes her his life. Ash is such a complex character, I wish I could focus on him more!

**A/N**: As always, thank you to everyone for reading! Don't forget to leave a review if you have the chance, they're greatly appreciated. I expect to have the next chapter up in the Friday/Saturday time range.


	8. Chapter Seven

**A/N**: These next two chapters are ungodly late, and I apologize. Suffice it to say I had some RL issues, including losing my job, but updates should be back on track. I know a few people have questioned which pairing this story will end with- I'd rather not post it here for the people who don't want to be spoiled, but if you're dying to know I'll try to send a PM when I have the chance. As always, thanks to all of you who've been following along!

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**Chapter Seven**

For the second time that day, I tossed my arms around his neck and hugged him. Augie just gave a frustrated sort of _hmph_. "Your father would kill me if he knew what I was doing."

I let go, shaking my head. "The closer we get to Graves, the closer we are to finding Sergej."

Augie leaned back in his chair, crossing one long leg over the other. "Well, I'm not letting you speak to Nikolas alone. And I don't think it's a good idea to seek him out until after you've finished blooming."

"Why? What is he?"

He made a face, sort of like he tasted something awful. "A demon."

"A _what_?" I blinked, leaning back to gauge whether or not he was serious. He didn't smile. Serious, then.

"A demon. They're devious, Dru. They don't usually get involved with the affairs of Kouroi, which is the way you want it, believe me."

"Wait a minute." I remembered back to my Google search. "A demon runs a 'gentleman's nightclub'?" I made the air quotes with my fingers, snorting.

"You're surprised?" A faint grin flitted across Augie's face before disappearing.

"I guess I shouldn't be. But you said he doesn't do anything for free. If he does know something, how do we get him to tell us?"

"Demons make trades." Augie's scowl deepened, wrinkles forming on his forehead. "That's why we're waiting. God only knows what kind of a trade he'd try to make before you've bloomed."

_Huh_. I considered this for a moment. While I supposed the idea of a demon wasn't any wilder than some of the other stuff I'd come across while hunting with Dad, putting it into words definitely made it seem more—threatening. "So you'll come with me, then? To meet this Nikolas guy?"

"I can't say I'm thrilled with the suggestion," Augie began, holding up his hand when I opened my mouth to interrupt, "but I know if I refuse, you'll go alone."

"Thank you." I reached over to squeeze his hand before standing up.

As Derrick trailed after me, I knew I was feeling better already. I mean, my eyes still burned and there was a dull throbbing in the back of my skull, but I could feel a tiny amount of hope building inside my chest again. This time, Anna was mine. I was positive of it.

Leon appeared out of nowhere with that suddenly-there thing _djamphir_ are so fond of pulling, blocking our descent down the staircase. I let out a yelp, then glared at him.

He gave a slight bow. "Apologies, milady. I've come to speak with you. Alone."

Derrick glowered at Leon, and I wondered what kind of a history they had. "Fine, whatever. Derrick, I'll see you back at my room."

After the tall, lanky figure had descended the stairs and disappeared around the corner, I sat down on the steps, resting my arms on my knees. Leon settled next to me, frowning.

"Milady," he began in a low voice. "I assume Reynard has spoken with you?"

"We talk about a lot of things." I found myself studying him, noticing the way the chandeliers above our heads caught the highlights in his hair and made them glow. He was the closest thing I had to a friend who wasn't one of the _wulfen_, but could I trust him?

_Don't trust anyone, Dru_. Goth Boy's voice reverberated in my skull, making me wince. Unfortunately, he had a point—in a lot of ways, I was more vulnerable now than ever. Graves, one of the few people I trusted unconditionally, was gone, and I'd all but painted a target on my back with the words _come and get me, Sergej_ when I had agreed to step in as head of Council. I trusted Christophe but he was only one person, and had a lot on his plate besides.

"I'm referring to the daily danger you are in." Leon leaned closer, eyes glittering. "Anna still has many spies here in the Schola, as was shown just the other day."

"So what do you suggest?" I eyed him carefully as Christophe's words echoed in my head: _if it was a trap, it's possible that someone on your guard was in on it_.

"Going into hiding is a possibility. Those closest to you—a select few you trust—could act as your ears and eyes to the activities of the Order."

"_No_." My voice was adamant as I shook my head so hard my curls smacked my face. Flicking them out of my face in irritation, I continued, "There is _no way_ I'm going to leave the Council to clean up this mess on their own. For one thing, I'm the one that got us into this war in the first place. For another, I still have to find Graves."

Leon smiled wryly, stretching his long legs out in front of us on the steps. "I suspected you would say that, milady. But trust no one, do you understand?"

"Right." I hauled myself up, brushing off my jeans. "I get it. Anna's a bitch. But you know what, Leon?"

Leon raised his eyebrows, waiting silently for me to continue.

I smiled, and it wasn't a particularly nice smile. I could feel my teeth tingle as they lengthened, my jaw crackling as the aspect curled through me like a flame. I pictured her the way I'd seen her last—beaten bloody, and furious. Weak. "I can be a bigger one."

# # #

The water of the lake glittered in the emerging sunlight like glass. Next to me, Christophe was silent, his facial expression dark but otherwise unreadable.

The five rafts burned, flames startling against the pinkish morning sky. Two of the rafts had been empty when they were lit, the bodies never recovered from the crash site. Christophe informed me it had been decades since they'd held a funeral this large, though I supposed decades were a relatively small time increment to a _djamphir_ who could still remember WWI.

Benjamin. George. Nathaniel. Ethan. Victor. I had forced myself to learn their names, to burn them into my memory the way their bodies were now burning on the water, because I knew it was my fault they were dead. My earlier optimism had once again vanished, replaced only by a gaping emptiness in my chest.

Earlier that morning, Christophe had reminded me I would need a new guard, a comment I'd brushed aside impatiently. I wasn't interested in getting any more blood on my hands and he knew it, but I suspected it wasn't going to be the last time we had the conversation.

Christophe leaned closer to me now, speaking into my hair with a murmur. "It's Kouroi tradition to burn the body. Too many spells utilizing hair or skin of _djamphir_."

I didn't respond, and wondered if they'd held a funeral like this for my mother, too. I could probably ask Christophe, but instinct told me it would be a bad idea. My mother was one subject we'd learned to avoid with each other.

My thoughts drifted to my dad, and my heart squeezed painfully. He'd never gotten the funeral he deserved, or even a proper burial. There had been too much going on, and then we'd been forced to leave everything behind.

_I'm sorry_, I apologized silently, though I wasn't sure who I was talking to: my dad, or the _djamphir_ I'd gotten killed in my desperation to find Graves. Maybe all of them. Staring out at the lake, I knew one thing: I may have an entire army at my disposal, but until I knew who I could trust, I'd have to find Graves on my own. There was no way I could take any more deaths on my conscience.

As we trudged back to the Schola, August bumped my arm with his, reassuringly. "Penny for your thoughts, eh?"

I shook myself, white dress flapping in the early morning breeze. The clothing was another Kouroi tradition that differed from what I was used to—Christophe had explained it earlier, assuring me it was viewed as a sort of recognition for their bravery. _When djamphir die, kochana, they die in battle. _

"I don't know," I said with a shrug, in answer to Augie's question. "I like to think my thoughts are worth at least a quarter."

"Ah, _księżniczko. _This is no time for dark thoughts. Don't you know?" He gestured vaguely with one broad hand, nearly smacking me in the process. I leaned backwards just in time. "This is a time for celebration. It's why we hold these during the sunrise."

"August is right." Christophe came up beside me on my left, hands tucked into his pants pockets. Dressed in all white, with the sun rising behind him and making his golden skin gleam, he looked closer to an angel than part-vampire like me. "Unlike _nosferatu_, we can walk in the sun."

"And as long as we remember that, there's always hope." Augie smiled at me, teeth white against his dark skin. Between the two of them, I was feeling more washed-out and grimy than ever before.

I tugged my sweater sleeves over my knuckles, though I wasn't cold. The back of my head throbbed, a dull, familiar ache. "You think so?"

"Absolutely, _moj ptaszku._" Christophe flashed me a small, private smile, the one that gave me chills up and down my spine.

We walked the rest of the way in silence, with me mulling over their comments. I certainly _wanted_ to believe what Augie said was true, but considering my situation, it was damn hard. Sergej had Graves, and God only knew how deeply Anna's corruption had spread within the Order. If this Nikolas person couldn't help us find Anna, I had no idea what I was going to do.

The steady throb in the back of my head worsened, and I winced, placing my fingers at the base of my skull. "Fuck."

Both Christophe and August stopped walking, shooting me curious looks. "Dru?"

Christophe reached for my arm just as my walking began to look a lot like staggering. _What the hell? _My stomach rolled, and I had the sudden, awful realization that I was about to vomit.

"Dru, _moj maly ptaszku, _you need to sit down."

_Right. Sit down_. I stared down at the twigs and leaves beneath my feet, but my body didn't seem to want to cooperate. Colors started to swim before my eyes, and if Christophe hadn't grabbed my waist, I probably would've fallen over.

"Hey," I mumbled. I have no idea what I was about to say after that, because a second later, the world went black.

**TBC**

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**A/N**: As always, thanks for reading, and don't forget to leave a review if you have the chance. The update doesn't stop here, though! I uploaded Chapter Eight as well, due to the long delay, so go ahead and click that arrow.

adrian n rose: There will be a kiss, but I don't want to get too specific here. Thank you!

ThisLittleDeath: Augie is such a fun character to write. Thanks!

ivashkov'sgirl: Thanks! At the moment, this is both. If you're looking for an answer more specific than that, I'll try to drop you a PM when I have the chance.

Carly: Thanks! Can't make it too easy to find Graves. ;)

razzle1606: Thank you! We will definitely be finding out more about Nikolas, and who he is in relation to Sergej.

ellenfp: Heh, that's a side of Dru I've been missing in the last few books, so hopefully it'll make a comeback in the newest one. Thanks!

TheHauntedRaven: Sorry about keeping you up, but hopefully the next two chapters will give you something to read until the next update. ;) Thank you!


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

I woke up to find myself staring at the high ceiling of my room. Shoving myself up into a sitting position, I realized that somebody had moved me into my own bed. Standing at the foot of my bed was Dibs, who looked up at the movement. "Morning, Dru."

"Hey, Dibs," I said absently, rubbing my shoulder as I looked around to look at the room. Unlike when I had left it, every available surface was now covered with junk: large arrangements of colorful flowers, books, DVDs, and even—_dear God_—stuffed animals. "Did I somehow die and manage to miss it?"

"Nah." He lowered the clipboard in his hand to give me a small, sympathetic smile. "Blooming just finally kicked in, that's all. Should take about a week to finish."

_A week_? If I hadn't already been sitting down, I would've fallen over in shock. "Uh, no. I have a _loup-garou_ to find, remember? I am not lying in bed for a week, surrounded by—" I broke off, surveying my room with disbelief. "What am I surrounded by?"

"Gifts. Um, that's what _djamphir_ do, apparently. To, you know, celebrate hitting the drift."

I leaned forward, squinting in horror at something just beyond his right shoulder. "Who the hell gave me a _china doll_?"

At that moment a knock sounded at my door, and Shanks came sauntering in. At the sight of me sitting up in bed, a grin spread across his face. "The princess is awake. How're you feeling, Dru-girl?"

"Like shit. Who turned my room into a gift shop while I was asleep?"

He snorted—enjoying this far too much for his own good—and settled into my desk chair, stretching his gangly legs out in front of him and nearly tripping Dibs in the process. "Dunno. See, when a little half-vampire boy likes a little half-vampire girl—"

"I know where you sleep, Shanks. If you tell Graves about this, I _will_ kill you."

My door opened again, this time revealing Christophe, who looked immensely relieved to see me awake. "Dru, _malutka_, how are you feeling?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that? How do you _think_ I'm feeling?" My room was starting to get crowded, and it was making me cranky. How was I supposed to go find this Nikolas guy with all these people here?

Shanks picked up a stuffed green bear, studying it with interest. "Somebody needs a little more rest," he informed the bear brightly.

"Blow me."

"All right, that's enough." Dibs held up both hands, voice loud but calm. Although I'd seen it numerous times, I was always surprised by the sense of authority that seemed to come over him during moments like this. "Dru needs her rest. Everybody else needs to leave."

"I do _not_ need rest," I objected, kicking off the heavy comforter. Somewhat to my relief, I saw that I was still in the white sundress I'd worn to the funeral. Except that—God, between the dress and the flowers I probably looked like a bad romance novel heroine. "I need to get up and—"

I broke off as I stood up, room swimming before my eyes. My stomach gave a lurch as Dibs ushered the two of them out, Christophe shooting me anxious looks over his shoulder.

I sank back onto the bed, gripping the bed sheets with both hands. "Shit!"

"Look, you need to try and calm down, okay?" Dibs produced a blood pressure meter from a blue duffel bag on the floor, wrapping the cuff around my upper arm. "Hold on a sec, I'm going to check your blood pressure."

When he was finished, he unwrapped the cuff and I ran both hands through my hair, cradling my head in my hands. My temples throbbed as another wave of nausea hit me. "I can't stay, Dibs."

"I know you're worried about Graves, but you're really not in any kind of shape to leave the Schola." There was the sound of rustling as Dibs shifted through the duffel bag, then the sound of shoes padding across the carpet. "Here, try this. It should help."

I lifted my head. He held out a small, clear bottle containing a dark pink liquid. I accepted the bottle with shaking hands, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig. "Ugh." It tasted bitter, with an odd sort of fruity aftertaste. "What is this stuff?"

Dibs accepted the bottle, setting it on the nightstand next to the bed. "You just need some rest, Dru. Graves is going to be okay."

The room started to look vaguely hazy, and I squinted at him. His outline was starting to look blurry, almost as if—"Wait, Dibs. Did you drug me?"

The last clear thought I had before collapsing backwards on the bed was this: _goddammit_.

# # #

I woke up sometime later to find warm sunlight streaming through my window. Dibs was gone, apparently having been replaced by Christophe. My desk chair had been moved next to the bed, where he sat reading, boots propped up on the trunk I'd been using to store my school supplies.

My stomach growled loudly, and Christophe looked up, a broad smile spreading across his face. "_Kochana_, you're awake."

"Again," I grumbled, scratching my head and wondering how long I'd been out. My irritation must have shown on my face, because Christophe closed the book and leaned forward.

"Don't be too hard on the wulf_. _I asked him to give you the sedative."

"_What_?" My voice shot up several octaves, making my head pound, and I cringed. Lowering my voice, I demanded, "Since when do you decide when I come and go, Christophe?"

He scowled, tapping the book against his thigh restlessly. "Yes, well, I'd hoped that our last excursion outside the Schola had shown you the danger you're in, _moj ptaszku. _It's not safe to leave the Schola. It may not even be safe for you here. Fortunately, now that you have begun to bloom you have a better ability to protect yourself."

I settled back against my pillows, a strange sort of knot forming in my chest. I wasn't sure how I felt about Christophe's comments—almost as if I'd been incapable of protecting myself before I'd begun to bloom. I may not have been a trained _djamphir_, but Dad had sure as hell taught me well. "Whatever. Any chance I can get some food around here?"

"I'll see what I can do." He stood, leaning over to brush his lips across my forehead. Then he was gone, book resting on the chair the only proof that he'd ever really been there.

I squirmed around in bed, trying to get comfortable, and noticed to my relief that although some of the gifts still remained—the majority of the books, and a handful of flowers—most of them had been taken away. I imagined Graves sniggering at the stuffed animals, green eyes lighting up as he laughed.

I squeezed my eyes shut, flopping back down on the bed. _I'm not giving up_, I swore to him silently. _I'm coming for you_.

Taking a deep breath, I carefully swung my legs over the side of the bed, slowly sitting back up again. My stomach rumbled, but otherwise remained calm. The room stayed still, and I stood up shakily. _Okay. This is easy. See? Nothing to it._

I stumbled into the bathroom, cringing at the bright overhead light as I flipped it on. _Christ_. I looked like I hadn't showered in a week, and my hair would've given the Bride of Frankenstein a run for her money.

Locking the door, I rummaged through the cabinet for a moment, eventually producing a clean towel. I shrugged out of the white dress, letting it pool onto the floor, and stepped carefully into the shower.

I let out a soft groan as the hot water began to pound down on my exhausted body. _Yes, hot showers definitely make the world go round_. As I lathered up my hair, I wondered how long I'd been out. A few hours? A day?

Once I'd finished scrubbing my hair, I squeezed some shower gel onto the loofah, inhaling deeply. The intense flowery scent assaulted my nostrils, making me lean back in surprise. _Well, that's a new development_. Clearly, blooming had heightened my sense of smell. I wondered if my other senses had improved as well.

I emerged from the shower feeling clean and moderately more refreshed, wrapping a towel around my middle. When I headed back into the bedroom, I noticed a tray of food resting at the foot of the bed. Even across the room, I could tell by sniffing the air experimentally that underneath the lid rested a grilled chicken breast, seasoned with lemon pepper, and a small salad sprinkled with cherry tomatoes.

My stomach rumbled again, and I thought longingly of the cheeseburger and chocolate shake Graves brought me the first time we met. At that moment, I would've done just about anything for a plate of greasy French fries and a chocolate shake.

I hopped into a pair of clean jeans, zipped up my hoodie, and set about attacking the grilled chicken. I'm not generally big on healthy eating, but I suspected at that point I would've eaten pretty much anything.

I looked up at the sound of the door opening, fork halfway to my mouth.

"And she lives!" Shanks gave me another one of his half-grins, holding up a brown paper bag stained with grease along the bottom. "I figured you needed sustenance," he added, eyeing the plate of food in front of me. "Clearly, I wasn't wrong."

"Oh, my God." I accepted the sack, dumping its contents on the tray in front of me. "Shanks, I think I love you."

He snorted, sitting down cross-legged on the floor and leaning back on his hands. "Yeah, keep that one to yourself, Dru-girl. I value my life, you know."

Since I wasn't sure how to take that, I waved my hand dismissively. "How long have I been asleep?" I wanted to know, words garbled by the cheeseburger.

"Two days, believe it or not."

I nearly choked on my food. Swallowing thickly, I grabbed a handful of French fries, stuffing them into my mouth. It's not like I was trying to impress the guy, okay? I've got enough boy problems as it is. "_Two days_? How is that even possible?"

"Dunno. Guess you _svetocha_ are more complicated than the rest of us lowly _wulfen_." He watched me eat with a mixture of fascination and disbelief. "I think you're going to choke there, Dru-girl."

I rolled my eyes. "I appreciate your concern, but I've got a _loup-garou_ to find and some _djamphir_ to avoid. I need a way out of here." _Preferably without Christophe noticing. _

"Oh, no." Shanks shook his dark head adamantly. "I am not sending you out there to get ripped apart by suckers. That is a bad idea on so very many levels."

My jaw dropped, and I jabbed a French fry in his direction for emphasis. "Excuse me, but an awful lot of people seem to be trying to tell me what to do lately. I'm leaving to find Graves, and I'm not fucking asking permission."

"You seem awfully confident for somebody who's been passed out for the last two days."

A felt a surge of heat course through me, and before I knew it, my teeth were stinging and lengthening, jaw crackling as it shifted to make space for the new intruders. Shanks scrambled to stand up, holding up both of his hands. "Whoa. Calm down, okay? If you want to leave, we'll go find Graves together."

I blinked. Everything had suddenly taken on a much sharper image, as though I'd been looking at the world through a smudged window and only now realized it. All of my senses were on heightened alert—I could hear the sound of a leaf brushing against my windowpane, and the dull, steady beat of Shanks's pulse as he stared at me. My eyes flickered to his throat as he swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing, watching with fascination as his pulse throbbed.

"Dru." Shanks spoke very carefully, and didn't move.

**TBC**

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A/N: **As always, thank you for reading! Don't forget to leave a review, and look for Chapter Nine to be up this weekend.**  
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	10. Chapter Nine

_Disclaimer_: I forgot this last time, but nothing here is mine. Shocking, I know.

**A/N**: Thanks to everyone who left a review last time! Replies can be found at the end.

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**Chapter Nine**

I inhaled deeply. The thick, cloying smell of the fast food filled my lungs, but underneath was a delicious, tangy scent. Blood. I could smell the blood as it pulsed through his veins.

_Keep it together, babe_. That was Graves again, and I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them again, my voice was so raspy I barely recognized it. "No, you're right. Just—give me a sec, okay?"

Shanks nodded jerkily, hurriedly shoving up the bar on my door and undoing the locks. "I'll, uh, wait in the hall."

After the door had closed behind him, I wobbled into the bathroom, not bothering to hit the switch. Even though the room was pitch-black, I could see myself in the mirror as clearly as if I'd turned on the light. My pupils were dilated, liquid black pooling in my eyes, only a thin line of white visibly surrounding them. Hands shaking, I pulled up my eyelid to get a better look, and immediately wished I hadn't. The eyes staring back at me were empty. Soulless.

My teeth had extended, barely touching my lower lip. They were achingly sensitive, and I flinched in pain when I touched one with my index finger. I could actually feel the warmth of the aspect course through me, a dull, constant throb. My hair was no longer dark brown, but instead was now streaked with light gold. I could feel myself beginning to hyperventilate, and I stumbled back, banging my leg into the tub and swearing loudly.

I sat down on top of the closed toilet seat, gripping my midsection as the fast food threatened to come back up again. _This is a good thing_, I tried to convince myself. _You're stronger, faster, and more dangerous_. _Anna doesn't stand a chance against you._

"Nikolas," I muttered, running one hand over my face. "Focus on Nikolas."

I breathed in deeply through my nose, a distant sort of calm settling over me at that thought. Right. I had to make Anna tell me where I could find Graves. Once we'd found him and he was safely within the walls of the Schola, I could curl up on my bathroom floor and mope to my heart's content. Well, for a little bit, at least.

First, though, I needed to track her down. And while I was seriously reluctant to put Augie or anybody else in danger after the explosion, having somebody around to watch my back could come in handy.

I hauled myself up of the floor, and began to pack. After a moment of searching through my trunk, I produced the .22 caliber pistol and wrapped my fingers around it, savoring the familiar weight. Anna may have tricked me once, I thought, but it wasn't going to happen again.

# # #

The two-hour car ride was long and awkward. Shanks drove, fingers tapping against the wheel restlessly. "So," he started, after a long stretch of silence. "Reynard. What's the deal there?"

I stared at him with my best _I-cannot-believe-you-just-went-there_ look. He shrugged, bony shoulders hunching up underneath his denim jacket. "What? It's a long car ride, and I'm bored. Can't a guy make conversation?"

"No."

He heaved a sigh, gripping the steering wheel firmly with both hands. "Fine. We'll just sit in silence, then."

"Fine by me." I thought of something then and turned to him, feeling the seat belt dig into my shoulder. "Shanks, what do you know about demons?"

"I thought we weren't talking?" He shot me a look out of the corner of his eye, then rolled his eyes. "Alright, fine. I dunno. They're old, and they like to hide out. Dare I ask why you want to know?"

"The guy we need to speak to is one, apparently." I settled back into the seat, staring out the window at the pine trees whizzing by. "Goes by the name of Nikolas."

Shanks gave a low whistle. "Well, you sure know how to pick 'em. Demons like to make trades. You know, information for information, that kind of thing."

"So I hear. Not sure what kind of information I have to trade with, though."

He considered this for a moment. "Well, you're the head of the Council now, Dru-girl. That's gotta help, right? I mean, unless he's one of those demons that hates the Order for taking his land away."

"_What_?" I stared at him, unsure whether to laugh or smack him. "Shanks, I think you're confusing demons with Native Americans."

"No, no." He waved one hand vaguely, motioning for me to be quiet. "The Order was established to create a sort of—cohesion. Before that, it was chaos. Chunks of land were controlled by demons. They're really manipulative and super hard to kill, so it kind of makes sense."

"Great."

"Yeah, I know. So anyway, some of these demons started to lose control over their land, so they handed it over to the Order willingly. Others—well, not so much. A war broke out between the Order and those who sided with the demons."

"Why would anyone want the demons to stay in control?" I shook my head, unzipping my canvas bag. "I mean, it doesn't make sense." Something nagged at the back of my brain, something familiar. Something Christophe had said, maybe?

"Sure it does. Demons tend to be kind of hands-off unless it affects them directly, and plenty of things thrive in chaos, especially vampires. That was the first time the Kouroi and the _wulfen_ fought side-by-side."

"Wow. You really know your history." I stopped rifling through my bag to look at him, and suddenly it hit me. "Wait, was that what Christophe meant during the meeting? He said something about _lines being drawn_, but I thought he was being, you know, metaphorical."

Shanks looked embarrassed, flattening down his bangs with one hand. "Thanks. And yeah, probably. Some areas are under less control than others. It's kind of a hot topic among werewulfen right now, actually."

"Really?" I frowned, bag long since forgotten. "Why?"

He looked straight ahead, jaw set. "Look, Dru, don't take this the wrong way, but most _djamphir_—they're kind of assholes, y'know? There's a lot of speculation about how maybe it was a mistake to sign the treaty in the first place."

I curled my fingers around the strap of my bag, feeling sick. "Shanks," I began, then stopped. Had it been Graves I was talking to, I would've known what to say, how to reassure him. But it wasn't, and I had to choose my next words very carefully. "I know they can sort of be—yeah, assholes. But you have to know that it won't stay that way. I won't let it." I let out a frustrated sound, sort of a cross between a sigh and a snort. "We just have to find Graves, and, well, Sergej."

Shanks smiled then, but not really like anything was funny. It was more of a sad smile. "Graves had a theory. About why the _djamphir_ treat us like shit, I mean."

"Really?" I tilted my head, wondering why this had never come up before. I was all ears. "What was it?"

"He thought they were jealous." He shot me a slightly apologetic look. "Because they're connected to the _nosferatu_, and we aren't. So it sort of makes them—hate themselves a little bit." Something must have shown on my face, because he added quickly, "But that's why you're different, see? You don't have any problems with the way you are, you just—accept it."

I wanted to laugh, except my throat was too tight. _Accept it_? _Hardly_. "Sounds like something Graves would say." I rubbed my temples, feeling the beginnings of a massive headache twinge. "Look, Shanks. I know it's hard, but please just trust me. Things won't stay that way forever."

"So you're planning on staying, then." At my blank look, he elaborated, "In the Order. You know, after the war is over and Sergej is dead."

"Um." I blinked. To be honest, it was a good question. _Was_ I going to stay? I hadn't given it a lot of thought. I couldn't really imagine myself sticking around long-term, but it wasn't like I had a whole lot of other options. My grades—not to mention a severe lack of academic motivation—had pretty much ruled out college. "I guess. Maybe."

Shanks was careful to keep his eyes on the road, but I couldn't blame him for the skepticism I saw there. Hell, _I_ would've doubted me. My heart gave a painful squeeze. I knew I'd do whatever it took to rescue Graves, but could I really rescue an entire organization—from itself, no less?

We rode the rest of the way in silence.

# # #

On my list of _things to do before I die_, walking into a strip club with an underage werewulf tagging along rated somewhere below getting my teeth drilled and above getting botox. In other words, I wasn't exactly thrilled to be there. Still, I was to admit that leaving Augie had probably been a good decision after all, since having Shanks with me was going to be awkward enough.

Once we'd both gotten out of the car, Shanks bounced on his heels, shooting me a half-grin. "So _this_ is what all the cool kids are doing nowadays."

"Shut up. And if you tell Graves about this—"

"Yeah, yeah, you know where I sleep." His grin faded slightly as we both squinted at the tall, warehouse-type building that definitely looked like it had seen better days. The bricks were crumbling and faded, and several of the windows had been boarded over. "This looks kinda deserted, Dru-girl. You sure we're in the right place?"

Christ, another dead end was all we needed. "Not really, no. I mean, this is—" I checked the piece of paper in my hand, "—914 South High Street, right?"

"Yeah." He turned to me, eyebrows raised. "Got a plan for getting in there? I mean, we _are_ both underage and all."

I grimaced, crumpling the paper in my hand and stuffing it into my pocket. "Um, no. Not really."

I studied him critically for a moment. Shanks wore faded jeans, a dark green hoodie, and a denim jacket. If you squinted—well, if you squinted and it was really, really dark—he might be able to pass for eighteen.

Unfortunately, I've never been what you could call tall for my age, and I was still dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and my dad's old battered jacket. I had the sinking suspicion that nobody in their right mind would look at me and think I was older than eighteen.

Still, we sure as hell weren't going to turn back now. I touched the .22 under my jacket once, briefly, the familiar weight reassuring. I had my switchblade tucked into one boot, and a very shiny, very old six-inch dagger I'd snagged from the armory in the other. _You can do this_, I coached myself silently. _Graves is depending on you_.

"Alright." My voice was startlingly loud in the silence, making Shanks jump. "Let's go in there and see if we can find our friend."

Shanks gave an exaggerated bow, making a sweeping gesture with one gangly arm. "After you, milady."

Apparently, chivalry wasn't completely dead. I rolled my eyes and stamped passed him. As he trailed along after me, I thought I could hear him snickering quietly to himself. It was going to be a long evening.

**TBC**

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**A/N**: It may or may not seem like it, but progress is finally being made! Thanks for reading, and don't forget to let me know what you think. Chapter Ten is scheduled to be up Thursday, so check back then.

ivashkov'sgirl: Haha, thanks! Glad you're liking it.

TheHauntedRaven: Writing Dru's thoughts on Graves can be kind of tricky, so I'm glad it's working so far. Thank you!

Carly: Thanks! And yeah, Dru's blooming is definitely going to make it more difficult for her for the time being, but she's not the type to let something like that stop her. ;) Also, the wulfen are, hands down, some of my favorite characters to write! A lot of the _djamphir_ seem kind of humorless in the books, with the exception of Leon.


	11. Chapter Ten

**A/N**: Heh. Some of you are probably saying to yourselves... _wait a minute! Is this update early?_ The answer is yes. My schedule actually allowed me to get this edited a day earlier than planned, so I figured I'd put it up now. As always, reviews are wonderful and keep the world turning. Or something to that effect.

_Disclaimer_: I'm not Lili St. Crow. Nothing here belongs to me. I just like taking them out of the sandbox on occasion.

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

I shoved the heavy door open with my shoulder, revealing… an empty warehouse. The room was pitch dark, and—had either of us been a normal person—impossible to see in. As it was, I had to give my newly sharpened senses a period of adjustment.

My heart sank. We were standing in what looked to be a now-defunct manufacturing plant, with an abandoned production line cutting across the ground floor. A rickety staircase let to a small office above us, most likely once serving as the supervisor's office. Across the room looked to be an ancient elevator, its rusted gate firmly shut.

Shanks exhaled slowly. "Well, Dru-girl, I think this is the end of the line. No pun intended."

My gaze fell on the elevator, and I squinted. "Not quite." I broke into a slow jog, with Shanks hurrying after me.

We skidded to a stop. Inside the elevator sat a tall, thin man, legs awkwardly crammed underneath the folding chair on which he sat. He was hunched over a magazine spread across his lap, and didn't look up.

I grabbed the gate, eager to get his attention. "Hey. Excuse me. Um, we're looking for somebody."

No response. I rattled it this time, feeling my irritation grow. "Hey. Hey! Listen to me." I took a deep breath, and decided to risk it. _What the hell_. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? "My name is Dru Anderson, and I work for the Order. I need to speak with Nikolas."

_That_ got the guy's attention. He looked up from his magazine, and I saw that his eyes were red. Not like the bad-allergies kind of red, but literally red. His irises were the color of blood, and next to me, I felt Shanks bristle. _Great_.

Silently, he reached up to yank the gate open, and we stepped inside. Shanks cleared his throat as the elevator began to creak and grind to life. I inhaled deeply, feeling the man's scent curl around the back of my throat. He smelled oddly citrusy, almost like wet grass. He definitely didn't smell human, but I wasn't sure what he was. Still, the taste of waxed oranges remained noticeably absent from my mouth, and I figured that had to count for something, right?

_Don't let me die in this godforsaken elevator, _I prayed silently. Somewhere in the back of my head, Graves gave a snort.

The elevator screeched to a halt, and the man stepped in front of us in a single, fluid motion. "Follow me." He spoke quietly, voice hoarse, and Shanks and I exchanged glances.

We followed him through a narrow hallway, feeling the low, vibrating sensation of bass pulse through the walls. He pushed open a second door—this one shabby and black—and as we emerged into what was clearly a nightclub, I clapped my hands over both ears. The music was loud and rhythmic, crashing through my already overly sensitive eardrums and making the room reel around me. My stomach rolled. _Shit_.

Shanks glanced at me curiously, but I shook my head. We threaded through the surprisingly crowded tables, though nobody bothered to pay us any attention. Most of them were slouched back in their chairs, attention riveted to the large, L-shaped stage in the center of the floor. I grimaced, trying to concentrate on our mysterious guide's back. Shanks, however, was not quite as focused, and stopped dead, mouth hanging open slightly.

I heaved a sigh, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him forward. "Focus, wulf-boy."

It's hard to say whether or not he could hear me over the music, but my message must've been conveyed since he rolled his eyes, muttering something that was likely unflattering. As we reached the edge of the room, our guide came to a sudden halt, and Shanks and I nearly collided.

Our guide turned on his heel, pointing one long, white finger directly in my face, and I fought the urge to reach up and break it. "Wait here."

We both watched as he pushed open a fairly nondescript, unlabeled side door. Shanks leaned closer, smirking. "You're a fun date."

"This is so _not_ a date."

He grinned widely then, though it was more like a baring of teeth. I noticed then that his shoulders were tense, as if he was getting ready to spring, and I wondered if he was nervous. Well, I could hardly blame him. "Yeah, I like to save the strip clubs for the second date too."

"Whatever." I stuffed my hands into my jeans pockets, exhaling slowly. "Just let me do the talking, okay?"

He held up both hands in an _I'm-innocent_ gesture just as the black-clad figure reemerged from the door, holding it open. He didn't speak, but the message was pretty clear. Shanks and I shared a Meaningful Look, and I stepped forward first.

I'd been halfway expecting some sort of dingy meeting room, poorly lit with a few crappy folding chairs or something. Instead, it looked like we'd wandered into—well, somebody's living room. Two fat, squashy coaches sat in the lower level of a split-level room, facing each other. Against one wall was a massive TV, flanked by two DVD towers. On the upper level rested a dark, glossy bar, bottles dangling from the ceiling and gleaming in the low lighting. Behind the bar was a second door, this one closed.

The door clicked shut behind us, followed by the telltale _snick_ of a lock. Shanks made a face and I pivoted slowly, reaching for the gun resting underneath my jacket.

"I hardly think now is the time for weapons, milady. I just had new carpeting put in."

We both spun around at the sound of a male voice, vaguely accented, as I drew the handgun.

The man held up both hands, smiling gently. His teeth were very white against his tan skin, and he wore a black silk button-down with pressed gray pants, both of which looked tailored and very expensive. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with honey-blonde hair that glistened in the light. In fact, were in not for his eyes, he could have easily been _Teen Vogue'_s next cover model.

His eyes were completely black, void of any whiteness whatsoever. They were limpid dark pools, bleeding seemingly right through to the back of his skull. I shuddered, and my grip on the .22 tightened. "Are you Nikolas?"

"That I am." He lowered his hands slowly, gesturing grandly to the bar. "And you must be the Lady Dru. Do you mind if I make myself a drink?"

I swallowed and nodded, not daring to take my eyes off Nikolas. Even across the room, I could tell he smelled wrong. He smelled coppery and sort of—well, _meaty_. Just standing in the same room as him conjured images of blood and raw meat in my head, and I shuddered. I could feel the back of my throat begin to clog with the thick taste of waxed oranges.

He poured himself a small glass of scotch, smiling sympathetically. "Yes, I'd heard you were a particularly strong one. Psychics can't stand being around me for very long, I'm afraid." He tipped the glass back, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "Affects their delicate sensibilities." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "If I'm not mistaken, milady, you have a war to lead. What could possibly bring you all the way out here?"

Unlike when the _djamphir_ said it, Nikolas pronounced _milady_ with a slight lilting quality, as if he were laughing at a joke only he understood. I suppressed the urge to shudder again, and forced myself to look directly into those dark, fathomless eyes.

"I'm here for information. I need to find someone."

"Ah, yes." He surveyed the glass in his hand intently, as if looking for something. "But I cannot help you for nothing, I'm afraid." He looked up again, setting the glass on the bar with a _thunk_. "And you are so very far out of your jurisdiction."

Okay, I was officially creeped out. Next to me, Shanks was wound so tight he was practically vibrating, and I had the sneaking suspicion that if Nikolas _did_ decide to attack either of us, I wouldn't be able to get a shot off fast enough to stop him. When I spoke, I fought to keep my voice calm. "I'm trying to find a _loup-garou_. He was taken from the Order a few weeks ago."

"I'm aware of the rumors." Nikolas regarded me for a moment, both hands pressed flat against the bar. "They say he was taken due to an _ephialtes_, a traitor. A _svetocha_, even." He licked his lips. "But I'm unclear what that has to do with me. Milady."

"We think the other _svetocha_ knows where he is." I took a deep breath, trying to inhale through my mouth so I wouldn't have to smell him any more than was strictly necessary. "She's been working with—"

"I know the person of whom you speak," Nikolas interrupted sharply. "His name isn't spoken here."

I swallowed again, and waited. I could feel the seconds tick by as Nikolas examined me, expression unreadable. "If I have information about your _ephialtes_, what will I receive in return?"

Well, it had to come up eventually, right? "Well." I coughed, feeling my heart thud against my rib cage. "What, er, would you consider a fair trade?"

He smiled then, a slow, steady smile. It was a smile that said he knew how desperate I was, and he had me right where he wanted me. _Dammit_.

He leaned back, tucking his hands loosely into the pockets of his trousers. "This _loup-garou_ must mean a great deal to you, milady, to come all the way to me."

I shifted uncomfortably, feeling the gun slide in my sweaty grip, and waited. After a moment, Nikolas continued.

"Fortunately, I'm nothing if not a fool for sentimentality. I will do your favor for you, if—" he held one hand as if to silence me, though nobody had said spoken a word, "—you're willing to do the same for me."

"You want me to do you a favor," I repeated, just to make sure we were on the same page. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

He ran one finger along the edge of the glass, eyeing it thoughtfully. "Milady," he began. "I showed a great deal of faith tonight by allowing you entrance to my establishment. I only ask that, in return, you show me the same amount of trust."

Graves had always been particularly good at reading in between the lines, I thought desperately, trying to stall for time. Unfortunately, I've always been the barge-in-guns-blaring-ask-questions-later kind of girl. "You want me to trust you," I echoed, struggling to piece this together, "but you won't actually tell me what the favor is."

His hand stilled as he looked up at me. It was kind of hard to tell, but I thought he looked surprised, almost as he'd expected me to refuse outright. "Yes, milady. Those would be the terms of our agreement."

I didn't need to be a genius at reading people to figure out that it was a dangerous deal. Graves would probably have a fit if ever found out about it. For that matter, so would Christophe.

Of course, neither of them was here at the moment, and I had a decision to make. If and when the time came that Nikolas wanted to call on that favor, well, I could deal with it then. "Fine," I blurted out, before I could change my mind. "I'll agree to your terms. Where's the other _svetocha_?"

Nikolas nodded slowly, as if to himself. "Return tomorrow morning and I'll have your information." He pushed himself away from the bar, heading for the door. "Oh, and milady?" He glanced at me over his shoulder, smiling that same calm, almost tender smile. I grimaced. "Please do try to blend in a bit more next time. I'd rather my patrons not be aware of our—arrangement."

I gave a short nod of acknowledgment, finally lowering the gun with a sigh as the door closed behind him.

"Well." Shanks's voice broke the heavy silence, and I looked over at him. "You sure know how to show a guy a good time."

**TBC**

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**A/N**: Phew! Hard to believe that we're already up to Chapter Eleven, but it's true. A lot of action is going to start taking place, so it's all downhill from here. Keep an eye out for the next chapter over the weekend. Also, don't forget to leave a review if you have the time, as they are muchly appreciated!

Carly: I'm glad you noticed that! It's one of my favorite lines from the books, and it's such a Dru thing to say. ;) Glad you liked the chapter!

Paigeeykins: Thank you! The majority of this is already written (well, I keep rewriting the ending, since I can't seem to settle on one!), so as long as there aren't any more unforeseen events, the updates should continue as planned.

ivashkov'sgirl: I know, right? I think she's more desperate than anything, really. The club details won't be _too_ specific, I just wanted a profession that sounded sort of shady. ;)

razzle1606: Glad to see that you returned! RL can be a pain sometimes. If it helps, you can have a virtual cookie. *passes out the virtual cookies* And thanks!


	12. Chapter Eleven

**A/N**: Just a quick heads up: I'm working on getting all of my fanfic on livejournal. My username there is the same, and there's a direct link on my profile page here for interested parties. If you have an LJ account or are considering one, don't hesitate to add me! I love talking to other readers and expect to have various, Strange Angels-related items up for download in addition to fanfic, including icons and wallpapers. I'll update this and LJ simultaneously, so no worries for those who prefer this format. /end long-winded post

_Disclaimer_: I am definitely not Lili St. Crow. It's all hers.

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**Chapter Eleven**

It wasn't until we were leaving and we ran smack-dab into one of the women exiting the stage that I realized just _why_ Shanks had been staring: most of them weren't even human. The woman we'd crashed into wore a robe so tiny I owned t-shirts bigger than it, and her smooth, flawless skin was the color of a cloudless summer sky. Her eyes were also startlingly, inhumanly green, and seemed to burn into my brain as I mumbled a quick apology and dragged Shanks to the nearest exit.

Once we were out in the parking lot again I doubled over, bracing myself against my knees and retching. My head spun. "Fuck."

"Yeah, well, you can say that again."

"_Fuck_."

"Now you're just getting repetitive, Dru-girl." He made a face, squeezing one shoulder awkwardly but careful to maintain his distance. "C'mon, it's late, and we're both wiped. Let's go see if we can find a hotel or something."

I snorted, wiping the back of my mouth with my hand as I straightened, sucking in lungfuls of air. "Are you propositioning me, Bobby Shanks?" It wasn't really my best comeback, but I was tired, okay?

He chuckled as he yanked open the driver's side of the SUV, shoving his bangs out of his face. "Seeing as how I like all of my body parts where God put them, I'd have to say no."

# # #

The following morning dawned cloudy and gray. It did not bode well for my mood, since I was running on approximately three hours of sleep and in dire need of some coffee. I sighed as I inspected myself in the mirror, feeling my stomach clench as I leaned closer to examine my eyes. Somewhat disturbingly, I hadn't completely turned back to normal following my freak out on Shanks. My eyes were still way too dark, and there were subtle but definite streaks of gold in my hair that had yet to fade.

"Wake up," I announced, jabbing Shanks in the bed next to mine. "We have coffee to pick up and a demon to talk to."

A pathetic groan emanated from the blankets. "What time is it?"

I didn't bother to look at the glowing clock. I knew it would just discourage me anyway. "Early. Rise and shine, wulf-boy."

Shanks kicked back the cheap comforter and glared at me, though the effect was slightly ruined by his disheveled hair and rumpled clothes. Since neither of us had thought to pack pajamas, we'd both slept in our clothes from the day before. This was definitely not conducive to either of us looking our best, but I had bigger things to think about at the moment.

About fifteen minutes later, we staggered into a nearby Starbucks looking like death warmed over. The barista openly gaped at us as we ordered our drinks, but I just gave her my best _shut-yer-mouth_ glare, perfected from my many years of observing Gran.

"You know, you're surprisingly good at intimidating people," Shanks commented as we slid into our chairs. I just rolled my eyes.

"I like to think so. Now drink up."

"Aye, aye, cap'n."

I pried off the plastic lid, dumping in copious amounts of sugar and cream and taking a gulp. The coffee burned its way down, making my eyes water. My stomach rolled, once, and I prayed I wasn't going to be sick. Once we'd both finished our drinks and felt reasonably alert, I checked my watch. "Showtime, I guess."

We climbed back into the SUV, this time with me as the driver. I clipped on my seatbelt and started the car up, feeling a pang as I flashed back to the first time I'd hopped into the driver's seat of a car.

"_Okay. Now, make sure you check your rearview mirror before shifting into reverse, honey."_

"_I know, Dad."_

He may not have always been there for me, but he'd been my dad, and I'd loved him. I still did, for that matter. I could feel tears begin to well up behind my eyelids, and I blinked rapidly.

Shanks, bless him, fiddled with the clasp on his seatbelt, looking for all the world like it was the most fascinating thing he'd seen in a good while. I rubbed at my face with my hand, and threw the SUV into reverse.

Once we'd arrived, I quickly realized the warehouse looked even grungier when seen in the cold light of day. "Alright," I began, tugging the .22 out of the glove box and tucking it into my belt. "Our goal is to get in and out as quickly as possible. Got that?"

He nodded. Once we'd gotten inside the seemingly deserted warehouse, we realized the elevator was now entirely empty. "Well, this is just fucking creepy," Shanks mumbled, punching the down arrow with more force than was strictly necessary. To be honest, I kind of agreed with him. Every molecule in my body screamed at me that this was a bad idea, to back out while there was still time.

As we arrived at the lower level, I realized that—in eerie contrast to the thrumming music from the night before—the club was completely empty. I grimaced at the sound of our feet echoing across the floor, pulling out the handgun. Pressing my lips together, I tried to reach out with my mind the way Gran had taught me, scanning the room with the touch, as she'd referred to it. At Shanks's raised eyebrows, I just shrugged.

I raised the gun, covering Shanks as he carefully nudged the door open. Unlike last night, the meeting room was not empty as we entered it. Sprawled across one of the overstuffed couches, dark red hair glistening in the dim lighting, was Anna. Her eyes appeared to be closed, with her wrists bound in front of her. She wore a long red corseted gown, with tiny golden embroidery that looked hand-stitched along the hem. Her hair tumbled around her pale white shoulders, and a nasty bruise was beginning to form along her jaw line.

I reached out, blocking Shanks with my arm. "_Wait_," I hissed, and we both froze.

The door behind the bar opened, and a beaming Nikolas emerged, hands spread wide. I fought the urge to gag as his smell filled the back of my throat. "Milady. We've been expecting you."

"What—" I pointed at Anna with the gun, "—is this supposed to be?"

"Why, this is your _ephialtes_." His broad smile didn't waver. "That was our agreement, was it not?"

"Our agreement was that you would tell me what you know." I eyed her, edging forward and kicking one dangling foot with my boot. She didn't move. "What did you do to her?"

"She's been sedated, milady. She did not come willingly, of course, but she was hiding within my boundaries." He watched me with something like amusement, though it was hard to read those unfathomable black eyes of his. "I make it my business to be aware of anyone who visits my territory."

I licked my lips, hardly daring to believe that it could be this easy. Keeping my gun trained on Nikolas, I kneeled beside the couch, breathing in deeply. Warm perfume and spice filled by nostrils, leaving an odd sort of rusty aftertaste in my mouth, and I frowned. I wasn't entirely sure what game Nikolas was playing, but it was definitely Anna.

I straightened, fighting to keep my hands steady. I could feel my heart pounding with adrenaline, a dull rush roaring through my head. Finally, _finally_ Graves felt within my reach.

I tightened my grip on the gun. "I guess we're lucky you were able to find her, then."

He continued to smile, but I thought I saw something flicker across his face for a brief second. It was kind of hard to tell. "Indeed we are."

He reached into his shirt pocket, and I tensed. He shook his head, honey-blond hair shining in the low lighting, as if dismayed by my lack of trust. He produced a syringe and a small, clear bottle, setting them both on the bar. "Here is the rest of the sedative. I've upheld my end of the bargain, milady. Do not make the mistake of forgetting yours."

With that, he pivoted on one polished boot heel and left. Next to me, Shanks moved restlessly, squinting over my shoulder at the couch.

"Sure smells like her." He paused. "Any chance we can tell people she was working at the club? Because that would make an awesome story."

"It _is_ her." I licked my lips, finally lowering the handgun and rolling my eyes. "Stop talking and grab her head."

Shanks looked skeptical but did as I asked, picking Anna up as if she weighed nothing. I bolted up to the bar, grabbing the sedative and shoving it into my jacket pocket. "I think," he grunted, hauling her up and tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of flour, "I can carry her on my own. I can't see very well, though." This was hardly surprising, since the giant train of her dress obscured most of his face.

I shook my head, shoving the door open with my shoulder as I scrutinized the empty club. "Show-off. You _do_ realize that I could have carried her just as easily, right?"

"Yeah, but then you wouldn't get the chance to shoot things." He stumbled slightly then, smacking Anna's head against the wall with a _thunk_. "Oops."

"Let's just get her back to the Schola in one piece, okay? We need her." _For now_, I finished silently. In that moment, I knew I was going to do whatever it took to get Graves back. When I was done with her, a bruised head was going to be the least of Anna's problems.

# # #

By the time we arrived back at the Schola Prima, the sun was high in the sky above us. I'd long since shrugged out of Dad's jacket, and shoved up the sleeves of my t-shirt.

"Okay." I stood outside the SUV, studying the figure currently splayed across the backseat. We'd applied the sedative again before leaving the club, but neither of us was sure how long it would last. I rapped my knuckles against the car door, thinking. "Okay," I repeated, turning to Shanks. "I'm going to take Anna to the dungeons in the basement. I need you to go find Dibs and ask him for smelling salts or something. Don't tell _anybody_ that she's in the building, got it?"

Shanks shrugged, running one hand through his dark hair. "Sure, I can do that. Might be easier if I take her to the dungeons, though. I mean, I know some of these back stairwells like the back of my hand." Here, he held up one of said hands, wiggling his fingers for emphasis.

"What?" I looked at him like he was crazy. Jeez, was everybody turning into Rambo when I wasn't looking or something?

He grinned, looking slightly embarrassed. "Yeah, I know. Graves's orders, though. Wanted me and Dibs to get the lay of the land, you know?"

At the sound of Graves's name, something deep inside my chest gave a sharp twist. I was really getting tired of that. "Whatever. Yeah, I guess that would be a good idea." I watched as he leaned into the backseat, then reached forward and grabbed his elbow. "Shanks—hold on."

"Yeah?" He looked up at me through his fringe, waiting. I shifted uncomfortably.

"Just—you know, thanks for doing this. I mean, I couldn't have done this without you." Okay, so that was sort of a lie—I was pretty sure I could've made the trek over to Nikolas and back again without him, but it was sort of nice to know that I had a few people in the Schola I could still trust.

"Not a problem, Dru-girl. We both want the same thing, right?"

I watched as he picked up Anna, this time cradling her in both arms like a rag doll, and headed for the nearest stairwell. I locked up the SUV and swung my canvas bag over my shoulder. It was time to go find Dibs, and have a talk with Anna.

**TBC**

**

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A/N**: My apologies for the semi-cliffhanger. If it helps we finally have some fight scenes approaching, and I look to have the next chapter up on Tuesday. As always, thanks for reading, and don't forget to let me know what you thought.

izzyfiorent: Thanks! I'm glad to see the Shanks love. ;) If it weren't for him, we'd basically have three chapters of Dru angsting to herself over Sergej and Graves.

Carly: Thank you! The two pairings in this story are Dru/Graves and Dru/Christophe. It never occurred to me to write Dru/Shanks until I reread the books and realized how awesome he is, so I might have to do that in a one-shot sometime! (As a side note, I love his nickname for Dru, and find any excuse to make him use it.)

TheHauntedRaven: Haha, thank you! I'm definitely going to have to start incorporating the word _marvelous_ into my vocabulary, because it is just not used enough.

Tamika: Thanks! I'm glad you're liking it this far, it's hard to believe we're already up to Chapter Eleven.

Atira7: I know, right? Dru can be a bit irrational when it comes to Graves, so we'll see what kind of favor Nikolas ends up asking for. And thank you!


	13. Chapter Twelve

**A/N**: Individual responses to reviews left last time can be found at the end of this chapter. Also, I think we've picked up a few new readers, so hello. *waves*

_Disclaimer_: None of it's mine.

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**Chapter Twelve**

I barged into the infirmary, not bothering to knock. "Hey, Dibs, I need—"

I broke off. The infirmary was empty, and Dibs wasn't in sight. I wandered over to the nearest supply closet, bending over the squint at the tiny labels.

"Dru?" At the sound of my name I jumped, banging my elbow in the process and making the various shelves rattle. "Oh my God, Dru!"

For a brief second, it was impossible to breathe as two very strong arms wrapped around my middle, squeezing tight. A moment later they were gone, a red-faced Dibs stumbling back and apologizing profusely.

"Sorry, I—jeez, we didn't know what to think! August said something about some kind of demon, and Christophe nearly hit the roof—"

_Shit_. August. In my hurry to get to Nikolas and see what he knew about Anna, I'd forgotten that he'd known where I was heading. "Um, where is Christophe now?"

"Dunno. Probably wherever you were, I reckon. He and a bunch of other _djamphir_ left early this morning." He gazed at me, wide-eyed. "Did you really go to talk to a demon? Was Shanks with you?"

"Um, yeah. Listen, Dibs, I don't really have a lot of time to talk." I pushed past him, crossing my arms over my chest and hugging myself tightly. "I need some kind of smelling salts or something. D'you have anything like that here?"

"Well, sure. I mean, I guess." He blinked, then ducked back into the supply closet. After several seconds of rustling, he reappeared with a small brown bottle in his hand. "Here you go."

"Thanks." I tucked it carefully into my jeans pocket, tugging my t-shirt over it to cover the bulge. "Oh, and Dibs? Don't tell anybody you gave me this, okay?"

Though I hadn't thought it possible, his eyes actually managed to get wider. "Yeah. I can do that, Dru."

I ducked into a nearby but rarely used stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. When I finally arrived in the basement, I spied Shanks leaning against a wall ahead of me.

"Hey," he said, straightening as he noticed me. "She's inside. Still out, as far as I can tell."

"Shouldn't be a problem." I produced the small brown bottle and nearly dropped it, my hands were shaking so badly. _This is it_. "You should get out of here. Um, some of the other _djamphir_ might be kind of pissed that we left, just so you know."

He smirked. "Hey, I can take them." He glanced down at my trembling hand, and the smile faded. "You sure you don't want me to stick around?"

I snorted. "Trust me, Shanks, I can take care of her."

"Hey, you don't need to tell me. I was there the last time she decided to pick a fight with you, remember?" He gave me one last inscrutable look, and I made an annoyed shooing motion with my hands. He shook his head, heading down the corridor with that weird sort of fluid lope that _wulfen_ have. Almost like the rest of the world is moving, and they're the ones standing still.

I hauled open the heavy door, allowing my eyes a moment to adjust to the light, or lack thereof. I inhaled deeply, the way Graves does after lighting up a cigarette, feeling her scent fill my lungs. It was a red smell, conjuring to mind images of expensive silk and high-heeled boots. My teeth prickled as they extended, my jaw sliding to make room, and the room came into sharp focus.

Anna was slumped on the floor, both wrists handcuffed to the wall. _Smart boy, that Shanks_. Her red dress was fanned around her, revealing delicate black boots and a petticoat, of all things, underneath. A low growling sound began to fill the small room, and it took me a minute to realize it was me.

The familiar warm flood of the aspect washed through me, but this time I wanted it—embraced it, even. My entire body felt as tightly wound as a spring, and I was actually shaking with the desire to launch myself at her. Unlike the last time I'd nearly lost it, I wasn't fighting the urge to bury my teeth in her throat, to drink until there was nothing left. This time, I had one single, specific purpose to keep me focused: finding Graves.

I dumped a small amount of the colorless crystals in my palm, then grabbed a chunk of that silken hair, hauling her head back and shoving my hand underneath her nose. "Wakey, wakey," I mumbled, grip tightening on her hair.

Her eyes fluttered open. When they landed on me, she let out a shriek and threw herself at me, snarling.

Unfortunately for Anna, I was ready for her. In a flash, I had her pinned up against the cement wall by her throat, boots scrabbling to find purchase. "Surprise," I hissed, my face right up against hers.

"You bitch," she choked out, still struggling as if she had the chance of escaping. "You little—"

I moved so fast she didn't even see it coming. One minute she was insulting me, the next minute my fist collided with her nose with a gratifying _crunch_. I loosened the hold on her throat a little, watching with a certain amount of satisfaction as the blood poured down her chin, a subtle sort of spiciness filling the air. With girls like that, the first thing you go for is the face. "Sorry, Anna, but I'm not here to catch up with you. You're going to tell me where Graves is."

She gave a strangled sort of hiccuping sound, and it took me a minute to realize she was laughing. "You really think I don't know what you did? You took Christophe from me. You _stole_ my place as head of Council. And now you're paying for it."

I released her, stepping away from the wall. She made a lunge for me, snarling, but was yanked back by the chains. "I hate to be the one to point this out to you, but—" I pointed to her handcuffs, "—not even _djamphir_ can break those. Kind of the point, you know?"

She snarled again. I bent over, ignoring her as I tugged the dagger I'd taken from the armory out of my boot. I lifted it to where she could see it, studying it in the darkness. "Do you know what this is?" I wondered aloud, not bothering to wait for a response. It was more of rhetorical question anyway.

"Christophe showed it to me at the armory, said it was the same kind of dagger my mother carried with her, once. Before she got the hang of the _malaika_. She was deadly with them, you know." I smiled then, and I didn't need a mirror to tell me it wasn't a very nice smile. In that moment, I wasn't Dru Anderson, daughter of Dwight Anderson and perpetual new girl. I was Dru Anderson, daughter of Elizabeth Lefevre, and _svetocha_. "But I guess we'll just have to make do with what we have, right?"

Her chest heaved as she stopped fighting to glare at me. I thought it looked like she was trying to smirk, but it was kind of tough to tell with the broken nose. "You can't kill me. You swore to uphold the Codes, same as me."

"And you did a bang-up job of it, as my Gran would say." I advanced on her, watching her eyes glued to the knife, feeling my whole body thrum with energy—with anticipation. "But see, Christophe told me a funny thing after you shot me. He said that _djamphir_ can scar, assuming the injury is serious enough. And I'm betting a girl like you—a girl relying on her looks to get by—wouldn't be too thrilled at the possibility of some scars."

She hurled herself away from the wall, but I was too fast for her. Before should could blink, I'd slashed across her collarbone. The cut was about eight inches diameter, and pretty deep. I dodged her flailing legs, admiring my handy work. Her screech echoed off the walls and back again, but it sounded more like fury than pain.

"Your mother—" she broke off, letting out another scream as I ducked forward, this time slicing raggedly across her cheek.

"Think that one was deep enough to scar?" I rasped, pressing the tip of the blade directly into the soft skin below her left eye. She immediately stilled, the only sound in the room a faint crackling as her nose began to heal itself. "Or should we go for something deeper?"

"It's too late," she panted, a desperate sort of look crossing her face for the first time. _Good_, I thought viciously, pressing hard enough that a drop of blood appeared on her cheek, like a tear. "It's _too late_, don't you understand? He's already—"

"I didn't ask for your opinion! Where is Sergej keeping him? Or would you rather we draw this out and see how far your miraculous healing powers can take you?"

Her carefully-painted face had gone ashen with fear, but I couldn't see it. Inwardly, all I could see was the expression on Graves's face the day he had left: green eyes glinting with fury, lips pressed so tightly together they were practically bloodless. The day Sergej had _taken_ him.

"You did this," I informed her through clenched teeth, my arm trembling as I pressed the blade into her skin. "Do you think I wanted to get involved with this fucking war? Do you really believe that?"

"I can't—"

"_Tell me where he is!"_

"He has a house!" The tip of the dagger dug deeper, the faint trickle becoming a steady drip now, and she squeezed her eyes shut, a choked whine escaping from her throat. "He has a house," she said again. "A few hours from here. He was going to go further, but the borders closed. He couldn't get across without alerting the Order."

I drew away, releasing her. I figured it was safe to assume _he_ referred to Sergej, but it was interesting that she was seemingly reluctant to say his name. "I'm going to need directions."

She sank down to the ground, gown rustling as she shook her head. "He'll kill me."

"Yeah, well." I wiped the blade on my t-shirt, not looking up. "Where in the house is he keeping Graves?"

Her head fell back against the wall with a _thud_. "He has cages in the basement, but I never asked. That's all I know."

I did look up then. She winced, as if after all that, she couldn't meet my gaze. I knelt beside her, body tense and ready to spring in case she came after me, but all the fight seemed to have drained away. I could smell the heavy fragrance of her perfume, and the delicate tanginess of her blood in the air. "If you're lying, Anna, I'm coming back. Are we clear?"

She nodded silently.

# # #

I pressed my hands against the glossy conference table, taking a deep breath. I'd had enough sense to change into clean clothes before calling the meeting, but I suspected I looked pretty worse for the wear, if Marcus and Bruce's disbelieving expressions indicated anything. "Alright. I'm calling this meeting because we have an idea where Sergej is keeping Graves."

"Milady." Marcus's voice was low but urgent, dark eyes fixed on me. "Are you sure this information is reliable? The last source—"

"The last source was a trap," I interrupted flatly, curling both hands into fists. "This one isn't. Where's Christophe?"

"We spoke with him as soon as you returned to the Schola, milady." That was Bruce, his mouth pressed together in a flat line. "He and his team should be back before nightfall."

"Good." I licked my cracked lips, thinking. "When Christophe gets back, he's coming with me."

"How many soldiers are you planning on sending, milady?" Hiro leaned forward. "It may take some time, but—"

I waved that aside impatiently, shaking my head. "I'm not taking soldiers, not this time. The last rescue mission went south because I don't know how many spies Sergej—" _or Anna_, I added silently, "—has working for him. Christophe will come with me, and so will Shanks." I ticked the names off on my fingers as I listed them. "Ash, but I don't know if he's up to it. August, and maybe Leon. But that's it."

"Excuse me, milady, but if I may be frank—that is not nearly enough protection." Hiro shook his head, disbelieving. "It's virtually a suicide mission."

I bristled, and the tension in the room ratcheted up a notch. "Going in with an entire army isn't going to do me any good if Sergej knows we're coming. I'm not losing him again."

Hiro and Bruce exchanged defeated looks, but said nothing.

**TBC**

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**A/N**: As always, thanks for reading! Don't forget to leave a review if you have the time, they're better than cookies. Additionally, you can look for the next chapter to be up on Friday.

Pepper'sOneWomanBand: I seriously enjoy the _wulfen_, so I'm glad to see the love. I would love, love to incorporate more Ash into this story, but it's ridiculous how many characters are in these books. I have no idea how Lili St. Crow manages it, so we'll see. There will be some minor psychic-related instances later in the story, but I've never been totally clear on the extent of Dru's powers in the books, so I tried to be careful with it. Thanks!

Carly: Thank you! Fortunately for us (unfortunately for Dru, maybe?), Nikolas will definitely be expecting her to fulfill her end of the agreement.

Twizzler: I love that Shanks doesn't buy into the whole worship-the-_svetocha_ thing. I've actually thought more than once that he and Graves have a similar, take-no-bullshit kind of attitude. Thanks!

Atira7: Dru's not thinking things through particularly well here, and think she's more focused on finding Graves at this point than the bigger picture. Thank you!

izzyfiorent: Thanks! I originally planned on bringing him back earlier in the story, but quickly realized there was just no way to make it work plot-wise. He'll be popping up very soon, though.

TheHauntedRaven: Thank you! And I know it's weird, but I totally get the feeling that I wouldn't actually like Dru's mother, probably because she's described as being so perfect in the books.

ivashkov'sgirl: Haha, I swear I never saw all any Dru/Shanks tension when I was writing this! Now, of course, I'm going to have to write some sort of Dru/Shanks oneshot just to get it out of my head. Thanks!


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**A/N**: I wanted to get this chapter up early today, since I will be out of town the next few days. Thanks to everyone who left a review last time! It's hard to believe, but we're currently about halfway through the story.

_Disclaimer_: I am not Lili St. Crow, yadda yadda yadda.

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**Chapter Thirteen**

Christophe did not look pleased to see me when he returned, but broke off when he saw what I was wearing. "You are alright, _dziekuje bogu_. What—"

I'd changed into basic Kouroi combat clothes, namely dark pants, heavy boots, a zip-up leather jacket, and dark gloves. Of course, the crossbow strapped to my back may have also been an indicator that something was about go to down.

"What," he gritted out, voice so low it was practically a growl, "are you up to, _kochana_?"

I held up one hand, scanning the weapons spread across the table in front of me. "Not now, Christophe. I think I know where Graves is being held."

He moved closer. "And how exactly did you come to this information?"

"That's not important right now. What _is_ important is getting him out of there." I leaned forward, reaching for the AK-47, when Christophe grabbed my wrist, hard.

"Dru, you've not thought this through. If the wulf has indeed been Broken, he will not hesitate to kill you."

I shook him off, huffing in irritation. "Believe me, Christophe, you have no _idea_ how much I've thought about this. Everyone said Ash was Broken, and look at him now."

"And yet he, too, tried to kill you once, did he not?" He grabbed me by both shoulders and spun me around, forcing me to face him. I breathed in his warm, spicy scent, like an apple pie baking. Underneath it, though, was something oddly rusty, not unlike the scent on Anna earlier. Did I have it, too? "I know how badly you want him back, _moj ptaszku_. But you were lucky to survive the last attempt. You may not be so fortunate this time."

"No." I set my jaw, looking him directly in the eye. We were so close, our noses were nearly touching. "Listen to me, Christophe, and listen closely. I know Graves. He'd never hurt me." _Just like he would never leave you?_ a small, traitorous voice whispered in the back of my head. I shoved it aside. "You can come or you can stay, but I'm going."

He swore, looking as if he was fighting the urge to shake me. "Must you always been so stubborn?"

I shrugged out of his grasp and turned away, grabbing the AK-47 and lifting it up carefully. "Yes."

He didn't attempt to approach me again until we were loading up the SUV. I watched silently as August and Leon hauled several heavy duffel bags into the trunk, nodding in acknowledgment as he drew closer.

"Dru, _malutka, _I need to speak with you. Alone," he added, studying me closely as his forehead wrinkled in concern. His angular face was shadowed in the dim garage and difficult to read. I hesitated for a minute before jerking my head in the direction of several nearby pickup trucks. To be honest, I wasn't really sure why we bothered to move at all, since both _wulfen_ and _djamphir_ have excellent hearing, though they'd probably be too polite to admit they'd been listening in anyway.

"Let's go over there, I guess."

Once we were safely behind a large truck, Christophe leaned forward, pressing his smooth forehead against mine. I was startled for a minute, since we hadn't really done anything physical since the last time he had kissed me, and that had been weeks ago. I could feel the heat rising in my face as warring emotions fought to take hold of my body. The memory of my last kiss shared with Christophe—the way his lips sent tiny fissures through my entire body, the way my skin burned wherever his fingertips landed—floated to the top of my mind.

"It's alright, _moj maly ptaszku_," he murmured into my hair. For a brief second, all I could smell was the warm, heavenly scent of apple pie as I breathed it in, the scent of him filling my lungs. The urge to lean forward into him—to bury my face into his shoulder and wrap my arms around him—was so strong that I actually reached out, bracing one hand against the truck. _Let Christophe protect you_, a small voice insisted, buried somewhere deep inside myself. _Let go_.

Was it really possible? To have someone take care of me, watching over me the way Dad had done, once?

"What do you want, Christophe?" My voice was astonishingly calm, and I gave myself a mental pat on the back.

He sighed, breath ghosting over my face and making me shiver. "You say you trust him, your wulf. Do you trust me?"

_Your wulf. _In that moment, the world came crashing down on me with shocking clarity. The desire to give in was strong, but the urge to protect—the knowledge that Graves was still out there, depending on me—was stronger. I took a step back, wiping my sweaty palms on my pants, and realized he was still waiting for an answer.

"I trust you to watch out for me," I said carefully. "But I think that—if you had to choose between protecting me and rescuing Graves—you would choose me."

He stared at me, eyes filled with such sadness that I was unexpectedly reminded how old he really was. "I often forget how young you are, _skowroneczko moja,_" he said quietly, as if reading my mind. "I know you don't wish to hear it, but as much as you may care for the _loup-garou_, _svetocha_ are precious. _You_ are precious_. _To the Council, and to me." He smiled, but it was more of a pained sort of smile than anything else. "One day, you'll understand how very much that means."

I swallowed around the lump forming in my throat, reaching up to brush my fingers across my mother's locket, as if to reassure myself of something. "I'm not sure I ever want to reach that day, Christophe."

He shook his head. "I don't understand."

I craned my neck around, watching as August slammed the trunk shut. Next to him, a grinning Shanks said something to Dibs, who predictably blushed. I turned back to him. "Are you saying that because I'm a _svetocha_, or because Graves is a wulf?"

He made a sound of frustration, running one hand through his hair. "That's a ridiculous question. We're wasting time."

He made as if to leave, but I leaned forward and grabbed his forearm. Even through his jacket, I could feel the firmly-toned muscles underneath, and I quickly let go. "Christophe. You say I'm—" I made a face, forcing myself to say the word, "_precious_, but so is Graves. So is everybody in that car." I jabbed a finger toward the SUV.

He stepped forward, boots scraping across the pavement as he pressed his cool lips to my forehead. Before I could react, he pulled away. "The Order is not a democracy, _kochana. _It may be ugly, but it is the truth."

I wrapped my arms around my middle as I watched him go, feeling myself shake. _He's wrong_, I told myself. And for once, the voices inside my head remained silent.

# # #

_I was dreaming. _

_I was stumbling down a snow-strewn sidewalk, Graves so close to me that we bumped shoulders as we walked. This scene felt jarringly familiar, and it took me a few seconds to realize why: this was the same neighborhood from the Dakotas. Graves and I were walking back to the house I'd been living in with Dad—well, up until he'd been zombified. The cold wind burned my cheeks and made my eyes water. _

_Beside me, Graves pulled out a carton of cigarettes, tapping one out into his palm and lighting up. I coughed, waving away the smoke, and suddenly realized he was speaking. _

"_So what's our next move? You're the expert here."_

_I felt as though I'd been punched, and the phrase seemed to resonate in my brain: _You're the expert here.

_This is a memory, I realized, and my stomach gave another sickening lurch. A memory of Graves and I walking back to the house after fleeing the high school, after I lost my temper with Bletchley. _

"_Graves." I reached out with one hand to grab his shoulder, but my hand passed right through him, as if he was made of nothing more than smoke. "Graves, wait. Listen to me. Graves!"_

_He continued walking, ignoring me. _This is just a memory, _a voice whispered in the back of my mind. _You can't change a memory.

"_Graves!" Desperate now, trying to grab his arm, his shoulder, anything to stop him from following me home. Because home, I knew, was where the danger lay: the suckers, and—more importantly—me. I was the danger. And once he followed me home, there would be no turning back. _

"_Graves, stop!"_

Someone shook me awake, and I came to with a jerk. My face was wet, and I scrubbed at my cheeks with one gloved hand. "What's going on?"

Ash looked grimly out the window to his right. The darkness exaggerated the hollowness of his face, and for the billionth time I wondered if it had been a bad decision to let him accompany us. I followed his gaze, but all I could see were trees. It was Christophe who responded.

"We're here. Everyone out."

We piled out of the SUV, gathering behind the open trunk as August began unzipping the duffel bags. My elbow brushed Christophe's as we passed, but he stared straight ahead, jaw set.

"The way we're going to do this is simple," he began, and I wanted to laugh. Except, of course, that nothing was even remotely funny about the situation. "According to Dru's unnamed source—" here, he finally looked at me, eyebrows raised, "—the house is located within this forest." He motioned behind us.

"Of course it is," Shanks mumbled next to me.

Christophe continued, pointedly ignoring him. "Naturally, the _wulfen_ will be able to transform as soon as we're within the trees. What this means for the rest of is that we want to avoid the use of firearms as long as we're still within the forest; the shots will only going to alert them to our arrival that much sooner. Are we clear?"

At our nods, Christophe turned to Augie, who reached into one of the duffel bags, producing a—_holy shit_—very old, very sharp sword. He leaned forward and handed it to me, hilt first.

"You all have extensive training in hand-to-hand combat," Christophe said calmly, though he was careful to avoid eye contact with me again. "Now is the time to use it."

I wrapped my fingers around the hilt, testing the weight of it in my hand. The blade itself was surprisingly light and tapered to a fine point, glittering in the pale moonlight as it trickled through the trees. August also handed one to Christophe, who accepted it silently.

I licked my lips, looking around at the small group gathered around me. Everyone's faces looked tight and drawn in the washed-out glow, even Dibs's. I'd offered him the option of waiting behind, but he had adamantly refused. "He's my friend, too, Dru," he had said, and we'd left it at that.

Watching them all, I was acutely aware of what I was asking them to do: risk their lives to save someone dear to me, someone who—in the case of Leon and Christophe—they may not even like. The five deaths from only a few short days ago seemed to hang above our heads like a shadow, an ever-present reminder of the risk. But they'd come, and I appreciated it more than I could say.

"Thank you," I said suddenly, voice loud in the stillness, and six pairs of eyes turned on me. My gaze met Christophe's across the circle, his blue eyes so dark and stormy I couldn't even begin to imagine what he was thinking at that moment. "I mean it. Thank you—all of you—for coming with me."

Ash just looked tired, but Dibs and Shanks both offered me small smiles. August studied me intently, while Leon inclined his head, once. "_Nichts zu danken_," he muttered, more to himself than to me. Christophe remained silent.

"Alright." I took a deep, steadying breath, feeling the anticipation thrum through my body as my jaw began to ache. The warm-oil sensation of the aspect surged through me as my jaw slid back, accommodating my rapidly extending canines. "Time to go in there and bring him back."

**TBC**

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**A/N**: I know, I know, it's another little cliffhanger, one that I didn't actually remember until I came back to edit this chapter. *hides* Thanks for reading, and don't forget leave a review if you have the chance. The next chapter should be up Monday.

Pepper'sOneWomanBand: I'd agree that there's a difference in Anna's character between the second and third books. She seems more petty in the third one, which is kind the vibe she has going on here, too. As far as the romance goes: it's tricky, because it seems like as the books progress, more romance seems to show up. I'd love to return to the format of the first book, in which Dru is basically bad-ass and has very little interest in romance at all, but I'm trying to balance between the two. Whether or not I actually manage remains to be seen, I guess. ;) Thank you!

TheHauntedRaven: Thank you! Nobody's in a very good spot right now, are they? Some fight scenes are definitely approaching, though I never realized how hard they are to write until I actually tried it.

Carly: Thanks! The _wulfen_ are among my favorite characters so I try to include them as much as possible, even though these books have a ton of characters in them.

the-weird-1: My deep, dark secret is this: I _love_ bitch!Dru, and the end of Jealousy basically gave me an excuse to write her that way. Thank you!

ivashkov'sgirl: Haha. I know, right? Thanks for reading!


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**A/N:** Sorry about the delay, all. I went out of town for a few days, and got back later than expected. Also, word of warning: this chapter ends in a cliffhanger. There wasn't a way to get around it without making this chapter eleventy billion pages long, unfortunately. Responses to reviews left last time can be found at the end of the chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

The seven of us bled into the forest slowly, threading stealthily through the trees. My mother's locket rested heavily at the hollow of my throat, and I reached up with my free hand to give it a squeeze. It was definitely getting warmer. _Please let him still be alive_.

The soft flutter of wings sounded above my head, and I glanced upward. Resting soundlessly in one of the trees sat Gran's owl, its head cocked and eyes gleaming in the dark. I licked my lips and spread out the invisible fingers of the touch, feeling my view of the forest shift while I stretched one gloved hand forward, as if that would somehow help. Still, I figured it couldn't hurt, right?

_There_. Using the shadowy half-vision of the touch, I could just barely make out multiple forms at the edge of the forest. They moved with a strange, stuttering grace, and reeked of copper and rust. Suckers, then.

I lowered my hand, fingertips brushing the walkie-talkie at my belt. I debated the wisdom of using it to notify the others. Using it would likely warn Sergej and his _nosferatu_ of our arrival, but surely the others knew Sergej would never leave these trees unprotected?

My decision was made for me when one of the dark forms made a sudden turn, hurtling toward me at an unnatural speed. My stomach rolled and my head spun, but I fought the nausea down. _Keep your head in the game, dammit! _my dad's voice practically roared in my ear.

I licked my lips as I fell back into the L-stance Christophe had taught me, balancing the bulk of my weight on my back foot as I tightened my hold on the sword. _Stay calm_, I told myself, silently reciting his directions in my head. _Mind your surroundings_. _Whatever you do, don't panic_. _Trust your instincts_.

My other hand itched to reach for the gun, but I flexed my hand, breathing in deeply and fighting the urge. _Not yet_.

One minute, the murky outline of a sucker was tearing through the trees— the next, it was on me. I reacted automatically, flinging up my arm to block the attack and thrusting the sword forward. The sword was light but I was clumsy; I was stronger with a gun than I was with a blade, and I knew it. The heavy, rotting taste of oranges filled my mouth, and I choked.

The vampire reared back, horrible screech echoing off the trees, and I realized it was a woman, or as close to it as a sucker can be. I'd struck her in the shoulder—deep, but not enough to do anything other than stun her. If I wanted to kill her, I'd have to do more damage. I lunged forward, but she was faster. She launched herself at me, and I gave an _oof_ as we both toppled to the ground.

_Don't panic_, I reminded myself, but it was hard when I realized a moment later that I'd dropped the sword. Swearing violently, I grabbed her by the throat, thrashing to keep her teeth away from me while I kneed her in the stomach. We rolled over, and suddenly I was on top of her. I made a split-second decision, grabbing for one of the guns.

_Fuck it_. Shoving it up underneath her jaw, I pulled the trigger. Black blood sprayed everywhere, coating my clothes, my face, and my hair. Scrambling up, I realized with a surge of horror that the blood was actually _calling_ to me, threatening to make my already shaky self-control snap. The sweetly spicy scent filled my lungs and seemed to sharpen everything around me, until my teeth ached and my eyes burned. _Oh my God_…

The walkie-talkie at my belt crackled, snapping me out of the trance. "All in!" A familiar voice bellowed.

It sounded like Christophe's voice, which didn't make any sense at all. Who the hell could he be talking to?

I bent down to grab the sword off the ground, scanning the area around me. Dark shadows were rapidly filling the forest, though not all of them were suckers. For one thing, several of the whizzing shapes wore clothes not unlike my own, meaning they had to be—

I sucked in a sharp breath when it hit me, and I wanted to smack myself for being so stupid. They wore clothes like mine because they were Kouroi soldiers. Kouroi soldiers called in by Christophe as soon as the suckers had spotted us.

Rage, cold and clean, laced through me, fighting against the warm blaze of the aspect as it surged through me. Christophe had gone against my instructions. _He's trying to protect you_, a voice inside me insisted.

_I don't need protecting_, a larger, much angrier voice inside me snarled in return.

It was kind of ironic that, as I was thinking this, a force hit me from behind and tackled me to the ground. So much for minding my surroundings, I guess.

"WHAT THE _HELL_ ARE YOU DOING?" Shanks screamed, face covered in blood and inches away from mine as he rolled off me. He must've been halfway between changing, since his mouth was rapidly protruding into a snout, and his voice little more than a snarl. There was a nasty gash on his forehead, but it looked like it was already healing. "MOVE!"

As if that was the permission I needed, I was up and plunging back into the trees, hacking and slicing with the blade. Calling it chaos would've been an understatement—the forest was a goddamn mess. Shouts and growls echoed in the night sky, and I had no idea which dark shapes were the good guys and which weren't, so I crossed my fingers that no _djamphir_ would be stupid enough to get in my way.

My eyes landed on another rapidly-approaching sucker, this one a broad-shouldered male currently charging straight at me. Without thinking, I launched into a roundhouse kick, snapping his neck with a clean _crack_. _Trust your instincts_. Silently congratulating myself, I leapt over an extended tree root, and abruptly found myself in a clearing.

Calling the building in front of me a _house_ wasn't unlike Christophe's use of the word _garage_ days earlier. As far as I could tell, the only similarity this building had with the houses I'd spent most of my life living in was the fact that they both contained bedrooms. Of course, this one probably had about ten of them.

It was a sprawling, concrete structure, and probably would've held the entire population of some of the towns I've lived in. I felt a wave of despair as I imagined trying to find Graves in this mansion, but clamped down on it quickly. Sucking in a deep breath, I once again extended the invisible, grasping fingers of the touch, reaching out for anything that felt remotely wulflike. There were definitely _wulfen_ in the woods behind me, but what about the house?

I took the stairs two at a time, and nearly tripped when I realized somebody was screaming my name into the walkie-talkie. "_What_?" I wanted to know, snatching it up.

"Dru!" It was Christophe, voice rough—presumably from all the shouting. "Dru, listen to me! They've let him go, do you understand? They released him into the woods, they must have known we were coming—"

I stared at the walkie-talkie in my hands, dumbfounded. "_What_?" I asked again, because I just couldn't make sense of what he was saying.

"Dru, the only reason Sergej would send him is if he's been Broken! He wants him to kill you, do you see? Get out of here! Go _NOW_!"

I dropped the walkie-talkie to the ground, feet frozen in place. No, that wasn't possible, I thought. Graves would never hurt me, much less kill me. There had to be some other reason for Sergej releasing him. Something we were missing.

I exhaled my breath in a hiss, narrowing my eyes as I struggled to focus on expanding the touch. I wasn't reaching far enough, if I could just go a little further…

_There_. Something that didn't fit with the scent of blood and death in the trees, something that was on the wrong side of the building but swiftly heading towards the fray. Could it really be him? Was this another one of Sergej's traps?

Without thinking, I dropped the sword and drew both guns as I broke into a run. A rushing sound filled my ears, until all I could hear was the thunder of my own heartbeat and the labored sound of my harsh breathing. _I'm here, I'm here_, I kept repeating in my brain, until it became a sort of a chant. _I'm right here._

I was running perpendicular to the direction we'd entered the forest in, but the fight was rapidly spreading through the trees. Far above me, I caught a glimpse of Gran's owl as it weaved through the treetops. _I'm right here, I'm right here…_

And then suddenly, I could feel him. I didn't know how to describe it, exactly, except it was similar to the time everyone had looked bizarrely one-dimensional, right after Christophe had bitten me. Looking at Graves was just sharper than it was when I looked at the suckers and the _wulfen_ battling it out around me, even though I knew I couldn't actually see him with my eyes. But I could with the touch, and I clung to that tiny thread of hope.

"GRAVES!" I screamed without thinking, realizing belatedly that it was quite possibly the stupidest decision I'd ever made when numerous pairs of eyes all turned to me. "_GRAVES_!"

"Dru, get back!" A voice bellowed. It was a melodic voice, even when hoarse with terror and fury. I would've recognized that voice anywhere, because it was Christophe's voice. "GET BACK NOW!"

Part of me—a shameful part of me—wanted to listen to him, wanted to back off and give him the chance to take over, because truthfully, the last few weeks had been hell. I was racing through a forest filled with vampires, running on pure adrenaline and practically no sleep. My nerves were shot, and God only knew how I was going to get Graves out of this forest if he was as far gone as Ash had been, once. But as bad as these last few weeks had been for me, I knew they'd been worse for Graves.

_Come and find me when you're ready to talk._

I raised both guns and fired rapid, simultaneous shots. "GRAVES!" I shouted again, since my location was hardly a secret at this point anyway. "Where the _hell_ are you?"

I darted through the trees lightning-fast, but there were too many suckers and not enough bullets. I scrambled to grab another clip when the chambers came up empty, but a sucker slammed me to the ground before I could grab hold of it, face—if you could call it that—distorted with rage.

I cracked him across the face, but another leapt on me from behind, and sharp, excruciating pain shot through my shoulder as teeth clamped down. There was a sickening crack, and I actually _felt_ my arm break. I couldn't help it—I screamed in pain.

I knew, then, that I'd walked into my own deathtrap. Even with the unplanned backup, _I_ was the target Sergej was aiming for, and there was no way he was going to let me walk out of this alive. Even as I came to this realization, though, I couldn't bring myself to stop shouting Graves's name in a voice I barely recognized. It was a raw, desperate sound, the cry of a dying animal. But I couldn't bear for him not to know, to let him think that we'd left him behind.

_Come and find me._

A thought occurred to me as I staggered to my feet, later than it should have. _Christophe_, I thought fuzzily as I struggled to stand up, though considering the fact that I only had one good arm and no guns, it wasn't really much of a contest. Christophe hadn't even wanted to do this; he'd only come along because of me. _Don't let him die, too_, I prayed silently, though I wasn't sure anyone was listening anyway. Did God even listen to the prayers of half-vampires?

I went down again as another sucker leaped at me, but this time as I flailed out with my one good arm, my hand smacked against something hard on the ground. A gun, most likely dropped by another _djamphir_ during the heat of the moment.

My sweaty fingers scrabbled at the grass until I'd grabbed hold of it. Wriggling my hand in between our bodies as best I could, I prayed I wouldn't accidentally shoot myself. But before I could pull the trigger, a dark, bulky shadow came hurtling out of the trees, taking down two suckers in the blink of an eye. Two more advanced on me, snarling, and I pulled the trigger. Both were clean shots, and I felt a surge of satisfaction. Even though I was about to die, I was still one hell of a shot. _Dad would've been proud_.

I scrambled up, pointing my gun at the massive shape that had taken down two vampires without hesitation, but immediately froze. If I'd been relying on eyesight alone, I probably wouldn't have recognized him. His body was swollen with the aspect, making him much too massive, and his teeth were huge. He was covered with blood, his skin laced with cuts both recent and old, some already trying to heal over. Others looked like the raised damage of scars.

But his green eyes burned in the darkness, and I felt my gun drop to my side. If Christophe could see me right now, he was probably furious that I wasn't at least going to get off a few shots before he jumped me. I licked my lips, and tasted the coppery slickness of the sucker's blood.

"Hey," I croaked.

**TBC**

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**A/N**: *ducks* The next chapter will be up Saturday, probably some time in the evening. As always, thank you for reading, and don't forget to leave a review if you have the time.

the-weird-1: Thank you! As you already can tell from this chapter, Graves won't be furry (I'm operating under the assumption that he can't change physically, as a _loup-garou_) but there will definitely be after-effects.

ivashkov'sgirl: Sorry, I didn't even think to put that in, but I'll go back and stick it in a note somewhere. It's a phrase Leon uses in the books a few times, and basically just means "no thanks needed".

Pepper'OneWomanBand: I know what you mean about Christophe. He's actually a pretty complex character beyond just being a potential love interest for Dru, and I'd love to see more of his background in _Defiance_. As far as this story goes, there will still be a lot of things taking place after Graves's rescue since Dru still has a few problems to deal with.

TheHauntedRaven: Thanks! And sorry, didn't mean to make you feel out of the loop! I honestly didn't give it much thought what they were talking about, since Dibs kind of blushes at the drop of a hat anyway. ;)

Carly: As it stands right now, we just rounded the halfway point. There are still a few issues Dru has to deal with, including Nikolas. Thanks for reading!

hunny1bug101: Thank you! I'm glad you like it so far.

LadyArtemis101: Thanks! Looking back, I can see why he might seem mean here, though that wasn't really my intention. He's always struck me as more of a realist than Dru. The "democracy" line (which might not have been what you were referring to, I'm just guessing) was intended to be a reference to one of his lines from the books, in which Christophe refers to the Order as meritocracy.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

_Disclaimer_: Nothing in this story belongs to me, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N:** Um, we won't get into how long it's been since this was last updated. *delicate cough* Suffice it to say, real life (including, but not limited to, college graduation and the subsequent job search) got in the way. Sorry, all. I hope there are a few of you out there still interested. Additionally, this storyline is officially **NOT compatible with _Defiance_**. I'm intentionally holding off on reading it until I've gotten this entire thing proofed and posted. I'm thinking of it as motivation. ;)

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**Chapter Fifteen**

Graves didn't respond, staring at me wordlessly. He remained crouched over the two bodies, not unlike an animal bracing itself for impact. But he didn't move, and neither did I. Not very far away, more shouts sounded, followed by gunfire. But for a brief, glorious moment, neither of us was under attack, and I soaked in his presence. Graves was alive.

Christophe's words echoed back to me: _the only reason Sergej would send him to you is if he's been Broken_. But Ash had been Broken, too, and now he was here in the woods, fighting with us.

"Graves," I whispered, voice so raspy it was barely intelligible. "Graves, it's me. It's Dru."

His eyes darted around as his body tensed, as if searching for something. He didn't answer, and I tried again.

"Graves, it's me. I swear I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to—" I nearly choked on the irony of the word, considering how beaten up I was at that moment, "—rescue you. I'm here to bring you back."

Tentatively, I put one foot forward, still keeping the gun pressed against my leg. His wide shoulders hunched, as if expecting a blow, but otherwise didn't move. I did it again, this time with the other foot.

His eyes flitted to the gun in my hand, and the only thing that kept me from tossing it to the ground was the knowledge that suckers were still running rampant through the forest. "Graves," I repeated. "I'm going to come to you, okay? I'm not going to hurt you."

I didn't realize until I was standing right in front of him that my cheeks felt wet, and I reached up with my one good hand, awkwardly drying my face with my arm. I was crying; when had that happened?

His eyes followed the movement, expression almost—questioning. Now that I was up close, I could see bruises were scattered along his face, partially camouflaged by all the mud. Blood matted his hair and clothes. I didn't realize I was reaching out to him until he flinched, and I froze.

"It's okay," I murmured, hardly daring to breathe as my fingertips brushed across one high cheekbone. The blood was slippery beneath my fingers, the skin underneath more washed-out than it should have been, as if he hadn't seen the light of day since his capture weeks ago. _He probably hasn't_, I realized with a sickening lurch.

His body was as tense as a bow, and I realized belatedly the gun was right in his face. "Sorry," I mumbled, lowering my hand. I could feel my broken arm struggling to mend itself, but I wasn't totally sure _djamphir_ could heal broken bones as quickly as other kinds of damage.

Slowly, carefully, one broad, bruised hand came up, gently extracting the gun from my grasp. I didn't fight him.

A low rumble sounded from somewhere deep in his chest, a sort of cross between a groan and a growl. It was a pained noise, and it sounded like my name. I let out a half-sob.

Before I could realize what a spectacularly bad idea it was, I'd thrown my good arm around him. It wrapped somewhere around his middle, hand flattening against his back, and just like that, it was the helicopter ride all over again. Just Graves and I, clinging to each other in a sea of chaos. I could feel the gun in his hand digging into my back as his arms circled around me, jarring my broken arm, and I didn't care. For the moment, Graves was alive, and so was I.

I buried my face in his shoulder, breathing in. I could feel the red thirst rear its ugly head up as the scent of stale blood filled my nostrils, but underneath that was something familiar, something more precious. The cold, moonlight tang of the _loup-garou_, and the musk of a teenage boy who needed his daily shower.

Getting out of that forest wasn't easy, but we managed. Graves surrendered control of our only weapon back to me, though he plastered as close as possible to my side without bumping my broken arm.

He still didn't speak, though I could feel him watching me. I wanted to offer some kind of comfort or reassurance, but to be honest, I didn't even know where to begin.

I let out a cry of relief as we came staggering back out of the trees and my eyes landed on Christophe. His shirt was soaked with sweat and blood and he was limping, but he was otherwise whole. His handsome face was splattered with blood, and a nasty gash was already healing on his chin. I thought I saw his eyes widen a fraction when they landed on Graves, but it was almost immediately replaced with a look of intense relief.

"Dru, _malutka_, you're alive."

"We need a medic for Graves," I managed, leaning heavily against the SUV and clumsily tucking the gun into my belt. "Where's Dibs?"

He looked grim as he wiped the blood off his face with one hand. "There are still many people unaccounted for. I've not yet seen the Broken, either." He glanced at Graves, then cleared his throat. "The, ah, other Broken, I mean."

I stiffened at this, but didn't have the energy to argue. A jolt of pain shot through my arm, and I swore under my breath. Christophe's gaze sharpened. "What happened?"

"Sucker bit me." I scowled, only moderately comforted by the fact that my blood had likely poisoned him. "I think he busted my arm in the process."

"We need to get that set, quickly, or it may heal incorrectly." He leaned over, carefully prodding the fabric with gloved fingertips.

"_Ow_! Dammit, Christophe!"

Graves was a blur when he moved. One second, Christophe was so close I could smell the odd mixture of blood, sweat, and apple pie—the next, his handsome face was distorted into something ugly as he snarled. One hand went up to seize the arm that was pressing down on him.

"This is not a fight you will win, wulf."

I swore again, tugging tiredly at Grave's shoulder. "Graves! Graves, calm down. Christophe's just trying to help. Let him go. Jesus."

Graves released him, taking a step back. The look Christophe shot him was poisonous, enough that I actually stepped in between them. "Graves, come on, let's sit down. Christophe, let me know when Dibs is back, okay?" I decided not to contemplate the possibility that Dibs might not be coming back.

I laced my fingers through his, leading Graves to a patch of grass the way I would a child. The silent act was seriously worrying me, but there wasn't a lot I could do about it at the moment.

It was funny—I'd imagined this moment playing out a thousand different ways, in my dreams and in my nightmares, and now that I was actually sitting next to him, I had no idea what to say. _How are you doing?_ seemed too obvious, and _hey, I'm the head of the Order now _a little too flippant considering the circumstances. I had no idea how I was going to break the news about _that_ one.

I collapsed on the ground, gun lying next to me in the grass in case we were rushed by any more suckers. Graves did the same. Cradling my broken arm, I studied him intently. As the silence stretched out, I groped for something to fill the void.

"Um. Ash changed back a few weeks ago. He's here."

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I could've kicked myself. Ash was the wulf who had bitten him the first place, an experience that was likely traumatic for him. I grimaced. Florence Nightingale I was not.

Graves shot me a look out of the corner of his eye, shoving back his dark curls from his face. His movements somehow managed to be both awkward and weirdly fluid at the same time, and I suddenly realized he was still the _loup-garou_ kind of bulky, meaning he was either bracing for a fight or couldn't change back.

I swallowed and, without thinking, reached up to cover his hand with my own. He stiffened for a second, but then almost immediately seemed to relax. Our hands lowered, coming to rest on top of the grass.

Christophe rounded the SUV, and his eyes landed on our joined hands. I felt a hot surge of guilt, though I was immediately irritated with myself for it. Christophe and I were hardly an item, right?

Unwillingly, I flashed back to the way his lips had lingered on mine in the garage only a few hours before.

These thoughts were quickly forgotten a second later when I saw the figure following closely behind Christophe: a battered but still very much alive Dibs. His normally blond hair was matted with dirt and streaked red, and the entire left side of his face was swollen. I hadn't realized until that moment how relieved I would be to see his familiar, gentle expression.

"Dibs!" I exclaimed, struggling to get up. He waved me back down as he tugged open the small red duffel bag slung over his arm. He looked haggard, but forced a smile for my benefit.

"Hey, Dru. I'm glad you're okay." His blue-eyed gaze settled on Graves before lowering to the ground. If he was astonished to see him, it didn't show. He gave a careful nod, but otherwise remained silent. Probably waiting to see if Graves was going to launch himself at one of us or something.

"Dru thinks she injured her arm," Christophe inserted, forehead wrinkling as he watched me with concern.

I shook my head. "I'm fine, I think it's already healing. Graves is hurt, though." _Talk about your understatement of the year._

Christophe glared at me, narrowing his eyes. "If it is not set—"

"Take care of Graves," I ordered Dibs through clenched teeth, glaring right back at Christophe. "I may be tired, Christophe, but I'm not stupid. I haven't forgotten about the reinforcements you decided to call in."

"Now is not the time, _moj maly ptaszku. _We are lucky to be alive."

At the word _alive_, I sucked in a breath. Soldiers were beginning to emerge from the woods, many I didn't recognize, but I still hadn't seen August, Ash, or Shanks, any of whom could be seriously injured or worse.

Looking back, that night was easily one of the longest of my life, with the exception of my dad's zombification and Graves's disappearance. Once we'd managed to transport everyone back to the Schola—the infantry trucks ended up being parked not far away from the SUV—we were able to assess the extent of the damage. The cafeteria was turned into an emergency medical center, since the Schola's infirmary wasn't build to hold that many people.

I nearly wept in relief when I saw Ash and Shanks, much to Shanks's embarrassment. Still, I could tell from his relieved expression that he was glad to see me, too. Even Leon was relatively unhurt, though he'd broken several ribs, and actually smiled when he heard the news about Graves, though he passed out from the sedatives they gave him not long after that.

Christophe and Dibs stubbornly insisted I get my broken arm set before it healed completely, but I brushed them off. There was still one figure I was combing the crowds for, one figure I knew would be pleased with my news about Graves even though they had never actually met.

It wasn't until somewhere around five a.m. that I finally had to admit the truth. Huddled against the wall of an empty corridor, staring at the tile below my feet, I knew what I had suspected deep down for several hours, but couldn't bring myself to admit: Augie was gone. I had traded his life for Graves.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered to the cold floor, lips barely moving as they formed the words. But even that felt like a lie, because I knew it wasn't the first life I'd traded in my mission to bring Graves back to the Schola. My guard was dead, and now, so was August. I would never hear his steady half-Brooklyn, half-Bronx drawl again, or ask him about my mother. I couldn't even bring myself to cry for him, because I had already cried enough for one lifetime.

Eyes dry and burning, I sat and stared at nothing.

**TBC**

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**A/N**: Keep an eye out Wednesday (my day off, phew!) for the next chapter. As always, I'll be replying to any reviews or questions at the end of the next chapter. I tried writing up responses for all of the ones I hadn't replied to before, but it was just a mess. *sigh* The good news is that this thing is entirely written, I just have to keep up the proofing and editing schedule I've set. Thanks for reading!

Also, as of this evening, I've officially begun posting Strange Angels-related icons and graphics up at my LJ for interested parties.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

_Disclaimer_: As always, nothing in this story belongs to me. If it did, there would be more than five books in the series, that's for sure. ;)

**A/N**: It looks like there are still a few of you reading this, which is fantastic! Thanks for all the kind comments, individual responses are up at the end of the chapter.

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**Chapter Sixteen**

Not long later, I dragged myself back into the cafeteria. "Dru," Dibs said when he'd spotted me, reaching out as if to take my arm, but then apparently thinking better of it. "You shouldn't be here."

"How many died?" I asked shortly, ignoring his comment. My clothes were stiff with dried sweat and God-only-knew-what-else, and I could feel the stringiness of my hair as it plastered to my neck and shoulders. My arm—although sore—had finally managed to heal itself, and I was able to move it again, albeit somewhat stiffly.

Dibs frowned, pale blue eyes clouded with worry. "Dru, you're just torturing yourself. Why don't you head up and see how Graves is doing?"

Part of me hated him for that comment—the way he could offer advice so calmly. I was torn between my frantic need to watch as the doctors examined Graves, and my equally desperate urge to burn the image of every injured soldier into my memory. _You did this_, I reminded myself, staring out across the room. _You started this war_.

As if reading my mind, Dibs's sharp gaze softened slightly. "This isn't your fault, Dru."

"Yeah." I sucked in a deep breath, wondering if the sting of Augie's death would still be there in the morning. Something told me it would.

I climbed up the stairs slowly, agonizingly, as if one wrong move would tear apart my fragile self-control. I froze mid-step when Christophe appeared at the top of the staircase, his eyes meeting mine.

"Dru, _skowroneczko moja, _we should talk."

I leaned against the railing heavily, feeling a heady wave of fatigue wash over me. "Not now, Christophe."

He descended the stairs, keeping a careful watch on my face. "You're upset."

"Of course I'm upset. August is dead."

A pained look crossed his face, and I belatedly remembered that Augie had been the one who brought in Christophe all those years ago. Well, so much for breaking the news tactfully. "He died heroically, _kochana_. It was the way he would have wanted it."

I sank to the stairs, wrapping my arms around my knees and staring at the steps below me. "He shouldn't have died at all. Sergej knew we were coming."

"What makes you say that?"

"He released Graves as soon as we got there, didn't he?" I could feel my body shaking, and I tightened my hold on my knees. "Goddammit, Christophe! I told you I didn't want anybody else in on this, and you ignored me. You jeopardized the entire mission."

He sat down on the step next to me, spreading both long-fingered hands across his knees. "I did what I had to do to keep you safe," he said, after a moment of consideration. "I don't pretend it was the ideal decision. I warned you war is ugly, _moj maly ptaszku._"

I laughed bitterly, the sound harsh in the empty stairwell. "So that makes it okay?"

"No. But August understood the risks, as did all of the soldiers in the forest today."

"Did they?" I turned to him. His face was partially shadowed as he leaned forward, throwing into sharp contrast the angles of his face. Once again, I couldn't help but notice the unearthly beauty of him—the cold elegance of his expression. Looking at him, no one could mistake Christophe for human, not at that moment.

A chill ran through me when I realized this was my future, what I was already in the process of becoming. Hadn't I felt it already, only the day before as I'd held Anna down? I could feel my anger at Christophe draining away, replaced only by a cold, numb feeling.

"I have the suspicion," Christophe said quietly, "you aren't telling me everything."

"No," I agreed, slumping forward and pressing my forehead into my hands. "But isn't that how we work, Christophe?"

There was a troubled silence, and when he spoke, Christophe's voice was cautious. "I may not always tell you everything—but Dru_, _I've never lied to you."

"That's not the same thing as being honest with me, though, is it?" I lifted my head, squinting at him in the bright light, and I knew from his sick expression that I'd hit a nerve.

"I've always been honest about my feelings for you." He scooted closer to me, close enough that I could see the glints of gold in his hair and feel the warmth of his breath on my face. "Isn't that enough?"

This time, I was the first to look away, hauling myself up with the handrail. _Coward_. "I don't know, Christophe," I replied, as honestly as I could. "I don't know a hell of a lot, these days."

He sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. I couldn't help but think of my dad, then, and the way he would avoid looking at me when he was too tired to argue anymore. Sort of the way Christophe was looking now. "Go to your wulf, _malutka_. I'll find you in the morning."

When I finally returned to the dorms, I found a group of three djamphir murmuring amongst themselves in the front room. As I entered, all three heads shot up.

"Milady," one murmured as he stepped forward, inclining his dark head. He had short curly hair and wore wire-rimmed glasses—presumably a fashion choice, since _djamphir_ vision is flawless. He also wore a soft-looking red sweater, pushed up at the elbows, and his golden skin glimmered in the firelight. "My name is Callum. We've been overseeing the _loup-garou_ since your return to the Schola. Are you sure you wouldn't prefer having him housed in the infirmary downstairs? We can easily arrange that."

"No. He stays here." My voice was flat, leaving no room for argument, and his mouth clamped shut immediately. "How is he?"

A second _djamphir_ glided forward, this one tall and slim with skin the color of mocha. His eyes were liquid dark, like chocolate, and he spoke in a low, musical voice. "Milady, though the physical damage has been extensive, we have reason to suspect the majority of his wounds are psychological."

"Meaning what?" I snapped, crossing my arms and fighting the urge to grab the locket at my throat.

The dark-haired _djamphir_ cleared his throat, looking nervous. "His injuries indicate he was likely held in a _tatra_, a stone cube limiting one's movement. The damage on both his hands is consistent with that of a victim attempting to claw their way out."

_Oh, God_. I felt a wave of nausea crash over me, and reached out to grab the back of a nearby sofa to steady myself. "Keep going."

"The scarring around his neck indicates that he was chained using an inside-out collar. This technique is used—"

"Yes, yes, I know what it's used for!" My fingernails dug into the fabric, and I could feel myself trembling. _Oh, Graves, what did I get you into? _"What about talking? Why isn't he talking?"

Callum answered then. "_Loup-garou_ do not fully change, milady. At most, their bodies grow in size and their jaws extend to accommodate larger teeth. We suspect it's a combination of his inability to shift his jaw back to normal and the mental damage inflicted during his confinement."

The room seemed to swim before my eyes, but I shook myself, hard. "What can we do?"

"Right now, we can do very little." Callum glanced at me apologetically. "We were forced to sedate him. I'm afraid his ability to separate reality and fantasy has been permanently compromised. "

"No." I licked my lips, shaking my head adamantly. "No, that's not possible. He recognized me in the woods, I know he did. He said my name."

The doctors exchanged a Meaningful Look, but otherwise remained silent. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that they didn't believe me. I gave in, reaching up and curling my fingers around my mother's locket. "I—thanks for your help, but I think you should go now."

I unlocked the door to my room with fumbling hands, not bothering to look up as they left. _They're wrong_, I thought desperately as I shoved the door open with my shoulder. _He's still in there. _

They'd left a single light on, a small lamp resting on my desk in the shape of an intricately designed oak tree. It cast peculiar shadows around the room, making the indistinct form on the bed appear even more distorted. I collapsed on my knees beside the bed, smoothing back the tangled hair from Graves's face as I studied him.

Now that I was closer, I could see the ragged scar tissue lining his throat like a necklace. _Or a collar_, a voice finished in my head, making me clench my jaw. Nearly forgetting to breathe, I reached out with one hand to trace the marks with my fingertips. _What I did to Anna wasn't enough_, I thought viciously, pulling my hand back and staggering to my feet.

The regret I'd felt only moments ago had been washed away with rage, clean and intense. This, then, was the _svetocha _inside of me, the same monster I'd felt as I held the knife to Anna's face. Was this what my mother had run away from—not Anna or the Order, but herself?

My jaw ached, the recognizable warm-oil sensation of the aspect flowing through me as I imagined the crunch of a skull beneath my boot—Anna's skull. It didn't horrify me nearly as much as it should have.

Grabbing the hand towel from its rack in the bathroom, I soaked it in lukewarm water and started wiping the blood off Graves's face as best I could. As far as I could tell, he was still dressed in the same t-shirt and jeans he'd been wearing weeks ago, though they were so thoroughly caked in dirt and blood it was difficult to be sure.

"Jesus," I muttered, kicking off my shoes and crawling onto the bed. Luckily, it was a fairly big bed, so I wasn't in immediate risk of rolling off, at least.

On Christophe's list of _Top Ten Things That Will Get Dru Killed_, I figured sleeping next to a werewulf who's just been tortured was pretty high up there. _But it's Graves_, a small voice in my head insisted. _Graves would never hurt me._

_Besides_, I reasoned, feeling my eyelids grow heavy, _he's sedated, right? _

That was the last thought I had before succumbing to the deep, peaceful darkness of sleep.

# # #

After what felt like only a few short, blissful moments of slumber—but in reality was probably closer to several hours later—my eyes snapped open as I rolled off the bed, body tensed. I landed in an L-shaped fighting stance, grabbing the switchblade from my end table in one fluid movement. It took my sleep-muddled brain a moment to catch up with the rest of my body, though.

Graves was growling, thrashing around on the bed and tearing through the comforter like tissue paper. I winced—I'd actually sort of liked that one—but backed up until I could feel the wood paneling of the wall digging into my lower back.

"Graves?" I asked carefully, knuckles whitening as I gripped the switchblade. "Graves, it's me, it's Dru. You're having a nightmare. _Graves_!"

The bed, which has actually pretty sturdy looking, had begun to shake. Could he knock the thing down on top of himself? I wondered. Just as this thought occurred to me, a desperate pounding began on the door.

"_Dru_!" Christophe shouted from the other side. "Dru, open the blasted door!"

I mentally cursed, fighting the urge to bang my head against the wall. Apparently, Christophe had opted not to stay in his own room, and instead had been sleeping on one of the couches in the front room. Just my luck.

"I'm fine!" I shouted over the snarls emanating from the bed, though I made no move to open the door. "Goddammit, Graves, _wake up_! You're having a dream!"

He abruptly froze, chest heaving. He stared in my direction, wild-eyed, but not like he really saw me. Whatever he was looking at, Goth Boy was the only one who could see it. I licked my lips, feeling my muscles gradually loosen. "Graves? You okay?"

Christophe's thumping on the door continued as I shuffled closer to the bed, kneeling on the floor. "Hey," I said softly, not quite daring to touch him yet. "It's okay. Everything's going to be okay."

It was, to my knowledge, the first time I had ever knowingly lied to him, and it tasted like ashes on my tongue. He didn't turn to look at me, though, just stared straight ahead with the same blank, dead stare. I closed my eyes, rubbing my forehead with the heel of one palm. "It's okay, Christophe," I called out over my shoulder. "Everything's fine."

_I wish_, I finished grimly to myself.

**TBC**

* * *

**A/N**: Thanks for reading, everyone! If you have the time to drop me a review, they're muchly appreciated. I expect to have the next chapter up over the weekend, so keep an eye out Saturday evening/Sunday morning-ish.

Shadow-wolf78: Thanks! Graves is a pretty fun character, though he's not quite back to normal yet, is he? :(

Lena-Nicole-10: I know! I do actually enjoy August's character in the books. *sniffles*

razzle-dazzle1606: Glad I made your day! And I know, poor Augie. Poor Dru, for that matter. Girl has a tendency to lose her parental figures. :(

Misguidedfriends beautifulmess: The wulfen are pretty awesome, aren't they? They always seemed to have more of a sense of humor (at least to me) than a lot of the djamphir in the books.

K: Thank you! Imitating another writer's voice is surprisingly tricky, so I'm glad to hear that it's working.

Dust Mikkie Tedmik: Thanks for reading! I know, people really seem to be dropping left and right, don't they?


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